^■<^. c-V^ ' 




< o 








^oV'^ 







'^sS?^^,^^.. o .^^^ 






v«o^ 



0^ V^^^^^\^^' 



.<?- 



.-iq. 




^oV 









•,.5^::5;5:^.'!»''.„ •^ .<4^ 







•' ,<^ 



^* >-?>■ 






y 






^^ 



* 4 



%. 



%' 



.-s." 



RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 



BY THE LATE 

JOHN TAYLOR, ESQ., 

n 

A0THOK OP 

"MONSIEUR TONSON." 



COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. 






NEW-YORK: 

PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY J. & J. HARPER, 

No. 82 CUFF-STREET, 

AND SOLD BY THE BOOKSELLERS GENERALLY THROUGHOUT THE 
UNITED STATES. 

18 3 3. 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER I. 

The Chevalier Taylor — The Author's Parents — Jess6 Foot and his Uncle 
— Derrick the Poet and Mrs. Lessingham, &c. - - Page 13 

CHAPTER n. 

The Author's early History — Anecdote of his Grandfather, the Chevalier 
Taylor — Baron de Wenzel — Imposition of Henry Jones — Account of 
him, &c. - - - - - - -18 

CHAPTER III. 

The Author's own Family — James Taylor, A.M. — Philip Riley Taylor 
—The Author's Father — Cheselden's connexion with the Author's 
Father — The Author appointed Oculist to the Prince of Wales — Wil- 
liam Oldys, Esq. &c. - - - - - - 22 

CHAPTER IV. 
Mr. James Brooke — Mrs. Pritchard, the Actress — Mrs. Brooke, &c. 29 

CHAPTER V. 
Mr. Pratt— Mr. Sayers— Miss Seward— Mrs. Angelica KaufFman, &.c. 33 

CHAPTER VI. 

Mr. Henry Griffith — Reddish, the Actor — William Donaldson, Esq. — 
Lucy Cooper and Richardson — Miss Graham — Miss Faulkener, after- 
ward Mrs. Graham — Mr. Peter Bardin — Sir Henry Moore — Constantia 
Phillips — Maclaine, the Highwayman — Mr. Owen Ruffhead — An ex- 
traordinary Story — Another extraordinary Story, &.c. - - 38 

CHAPTER VII. 

Dr. Monsey — Sir Benjamin Wrench — Sir Robert Walpole— Lord Towns- 
hend— The Duke of Marlborough— The Duchess— The Earl of Godol- 
phin — Lord Walsingham — Dr. Monsey and Mrs. Garrick — Dr. Wolcot, 
Mrs. Billington and Curran— Dr. Warburton and Quin — Character of 
Warburton — Mr. Bos well, junior — Dr. Monsey's Daughter — Mrs. Mon- 
tague— Conyers Middleton and " Old Chubb," &c. - - 49 



VI CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Mr. Hugh Kelly — Mrs. Dancer, the Actress — Sir Henry Bate Dudley — ' 
Mr. Richardson's Challenge to him — Mr. Brereton, the Irish Duel- 
list, &c. - - - - - - -63 

' CHAPTER IX. 

Dr. Oliver Goldsmith — John Wilkes, &c. - - - - G8 

CHAPTER X. 

The Earl of Chatham— The Abb6 Sechard— Lady Wallace— Mr. Fox 
and the Whigs — Mr. Burke, &c. - - - - 73 

CHAPTER XI. 

Francis North, Earl of Guildford — Mr. John Kemble — Miss Phillips — 
Mr. Kemble and Dr. Charles Burney — Mr. Kemble and the Hon. Mr. 
St. John — Tickel and Sheridan, &c. - - - - 79 

CHAPTER XII. 

Rev. William Peters — His acquaintance and quarrel with Mr. William 
Gifford— Mr. John Home Tooke, &c. - - - 89 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Edward Jerninghara, Esq., &c. - - - - - 96 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Charles Townley, Esq. — Miss Pond— Mr. O'Brien, the Actor— Mr. Bat- 
tishill — Dr. Shebbeare — Mr. Tetherington — Coan, the Dwarf — Lady 

W and Colonel Bloomfield — Mr. Pitt and the Duchess of Gordon 

— Dignum — Dr. Johnson — Buckhorse, &c. - - - 104 

CHAPTER XV. 

Thomson the Poet — His Wife — Mr. George Chalmers — Hugh Boyd and 
his Daughter — Mr. Gerard Hamilton and the Duke of Richmond, 
&c. - - - - - - - - 110 

CHAPTER XVL 

Mr. Arthur Murphy — Mr. Jesse Foot and Mr. Fazakerly — Miss Elliot — 
Mrs. Jordan, &,c. - - - - - -114 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Mrs. Macaulay — Dr. Graham — Dr. Birch — Lord Chesterfield and the 
Duchess of Marlborough — Jack Spencer, &/C. - - - 123 



CONTENTS. Vli 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Mr. James Boswell — Mr. Windham and Dr. Johnson — Sir Alexander 
Boswell — Mr. James Boswell, junior — Dr. Glover — Mrs. Kelly — Mr. 
Akerman — Mr. Stephen Kemble — Mr. Davenport, <&t.c. - 126 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Rev. Thomas Maurice — Dr. Parr — Dr. Johnson — Thomas Tyers — Wil- 
liam Taylor, Esq. — Professor Porson — Mr. James Perry, &c. - 133 

CHAPTER XX. 

Mr. Samuel Ireland — Shakspeare's MS. Play of " Vortigern and Rowena^* 
—Mr. John Ireland — Hewardine — Cervetto — Jervas, the Painter, 
&c. - - - - - - - - 141 

CHAPTER XXI. 
Ozias Humphrey, R.A. — Mr. Caleb Whitefoord— Colley Cibber, &c. 148 

CHAPTER XXII. 
Mrs, Cornelys — Miss Cornelys — Miss Williams, &c. - - 153 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Haydn, the Composer — Anthony Pasquin — Mrs Abington — Mr. West, 
Pres. R.A, — Mr. Jay, the American Minisler, &c. - - 168 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

Walking Stewart, &c. - - - - - - 163 

CHAPTER XXV. 

Mr. John Opie, R.A. — Dr. Wolcot — Fuseli — Mrs. Opie — Mr. North- 
cote, &c. - - - - - - 169 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

Mr. Richard Owen Cambridcre — Mr. James Cobb — Mr. Prince Hoare — 
Major Grose — Mr. Henry James Pye — Mr. Barfc-d — Lord Darnley and 
Mrs. Woffington — Garrick and Berenger — Garrick and Barry, &c. 176 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

Capability Brown — Sir Charles Bamfield — Mr. John Kemble — Handel 
and Dean Swift — Dr. Morell and Handel — Reverse of Fortune — Mrs. 
Batiman — Chevalier D'Eon — General Paoli, &c. - - 187 



VUl CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Garrick and Dr. Monsey — Mrs. Clive — Garrick, &c. - - 194 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

Barry, the Actor — Mrs. Crawford, afterward Mrs, Barry — Mr. and Mrs. 
Yates— Hurst — Hallam— Mr. and Mrs. Ross, &c. - - 199 

CHAPTER XXX. 

Shuter — Hippsley and Mrs. Green — Tom Lowe — Peter Bardin, &c. 207 

CHAPTER XXXI;- 

John Henderson — Mr. T. Sheridan — Tom Davies — Mr. Becket, the Book- 
seller — " The Pursuits of Literature" — Rowley and Chatterton — Mr. 
William Boscawen — Mr. W. T. Fiiz Gerald— Mr. H. J. Pye — Tom 
King — Miss Baker — Doctor Hoadiey, M.D. &c. - - 212 

CHAPTER XXXH. 
Mrs. Inchbald — Mr. Justice Hardinge, &.c. - - - 223 

CHAPTER XXXm. 
Mrs. Abington — Miss Farren, &c. - - - - 230 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

Holman and " The Glorious Eight" — Quick — Terry— Emery — Bensley, 
&.C. - - - - - - - - 235 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

Lewis, a Provincial Actor — Dagger Marr — Garrick and Dr. Monsey 

Parsons — Edwin — Moody, &c. .... 242 

CHAPTER XXXVL 

Charles Macklin, &c. - - - - - - 247 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

Mr. Thomas Sheridan— Tom King — Woodward — William Lewis" — Bibb, 
the Engraver, «fec. - ... . . 055 

CHAPTER XXXVIH. 
Tom Davies — Mr, George Steevens— John Palmer, &c. - - 264 



CONTENTS. IX 

CHAPTER XXXTX. 

Mr. John Kemble— Mr. and Mrs. Hull— Gentleman Smith, &c. - 269 

CHAPTER XL. 

King Gibson—Ridout— Mr. Walker— Quin— Mr. Tnce— Mrs. Clive, 
&c. - - - - - - - - 280 

CHAPTER XLI. 

Mrs. Siddons — Mr. Waldron — Admiral Schank — Suett — John Kemble — 
Mr. and Mrs. Charles Kemble— Dodd, &c. - - - 286 

CHAPTER XLir. 

JMadame Mara — Mrs. Billington— John Johnstone — Mr. 0'Keeffe~Mrs. 
Daly, &c. - - - - - - - 294 

CHAPTER XLHI. 

Michael Kelly — Mrs. Crouch — John Kemble — Bannister — Mr. Sheridan 
■ — Mr. Richardson — Mrs. Horrebow, &c. . - . 302 

CHAPTER XLIV. 

George Cooke — Miss Dunwell — Mrs. Cooke — Usher- John Palmer — 
Kean — Henry and George Saville Carey — Barrymore, fee. - 310 

CHAPTER XLV. 

Bensley — ^Charles Bannister — Robert Palmer — Quick — Mrs. Bembridge 
— Anecdote of Shakspeare — Anecdote of Cromwell — Mr. Malone'a 
Opinion of it — Queen Elizabeth and Shakspeare, &c. - - 318 

CHAPTER XLVI. 

Mr. Richard Cumberland — Con. Jackson — Mr. Richardson— Mr. Sheri- 
dan, and Mr. Shaw the Musician, &c. ... 327 

CHAPTER XLVH. 

Mr. Sheridan — His Illness and Death, &c. ^ - - 336 

CHAPTER XLVni. 

Barber the Watchmaker, and Dr. Monsey — Mr. Windham — Sir Joseph 
Mawbey — Sir George Howard — Mr. Burke — Junius's Letters, &c. 340 

CHAPTER XLIX. 

Voltaire — Charles XIL of Sweden — Francis Newbery, Esq.— =Andrew 
Bain, M.D.—Mr. Christie, &,c. .... 347 



SC CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER L. 

Sir Home Popham — Sir Thomas Boulden Thompson — Mr. Franks — Mr. 
John Reeves— Mr. John Bowles — Mr. William Shield — Monk Lewis — 
Colonel Frederick, &c. - - - - - 353 

CHAPTER LI. 

Dr. Wolcot, &LC. 362 

CHAPTER LH. 

Mr. William Woodfall — Mr. Henry Sampson Woodfall — Mr. George 
Woodfall, son of preceding — Junius's Letters, &c. - - 371 

CHAPTER LIH. 

Mr. Sheridan — The Author appointed Editor of " The Morning Post*' — 
Mr. Merry— Mr. John Gifford, &c. - - - - 380 

CHAPTER LIV. 

Lord-chancellor Yorke — Bishop of Peterborough — William Wordsworth, 
Esq., &c. - - - - - - - 390 

CHAPTER LV. 

Rev. Charles Este — Mr. Topham — Mr. Peter Andrews — Jacobin James 
— Rey. John Warner, dic. - - - _ - 394 

CHAPTER LVL 

John Nicholls, Esq. — Mr. Matthews — William Clay, Esq. — Singular 
Event in Hyde Park, &c. - - - - - 404 

CHAPTER LVH. 
Rev. William Jackson — Mr. and Mrs. Mills — Mrs. Ferguson, &c. 410 

CHAPTER LVin. 
George Chalmers, Esq. — Alexander Chalmers, Esq., &c. - - 418 

CHAPTER LIX. 

Jew King — Lady Lanesborough — Lord Falkland — Mrs. Grattan — Jack- 
son of Exeter — Mr. Davy, &c. . - - . 422 

CHAPTER LX. 

Lord Byron, &,c. - - - - - - 426 



CONTENTS. XI 

CHAPTER LXI. 

The Earl of Eldon— -The Earl of Coventry— Samuel Foote, &c. - 431 

CHAPTER LXn. 
William Cooke, Esq. — Rev Dr. Symmons, &,c. - - - 435 

CHAPTER LXm. 

Dr. Arnold — Sir John and Miss Oldmixon — William Gifford, Esq., 
&,c. - ' ' ' - - - - 439 

CHAPTER LXIV. 

Dr. Burnet, Bishop of Cloyne — George Colman the Younger — Thomas 
Harris, Esq., &c. ..---. 442 

CHAPTER LXV. 

Joseph Planta, Esq. — Rev. Henry Stephens — Sir Thomas Lawrence, 
&:,c. .----..- 446 

CHAPTER LXVI. 

Mr. James Hook — His sons James and Theodore — W. T. Fitzgerald, 
Esq. — Rev. David Williams — Mr. Boscawen, &c. - - 450 

CHAPTER LXVn. 

John Crowder, Esq. — Dr. William Thomson — Bevy Pearce — Dr. Hill — 
Mrs. Hill, &c. - - - - - - -456 



ECORDS OF MY LIFE. 



CHAPTER I. 

j When T said I would die a bachelor, I did not 
Think I should lire 'till I Vi-ere married. 

Benedict. 

This passage from our unrivalled bard is applicable to myself with 
reference to the purpose of the present work, as w^ell as to my mat- 
rimonial engagements. As early as I can remember, I saw, or thought 
I saw, so much infelicity in the marriage state, that I conceived a de- 
s;ree of horror against wedlock. It may appear strange, but I actually 
trace the origin of my aversion to matrimony even so far back as 
when I was only seven years of age. 

I was at that period of life with my dear departed mother, at 
Lynn, in Norfolk, accompanying my grandfather, the Chevalier Tay- 
lor, on his revisiting his native country. She took me to the play^ 
liouse, which was then open in that town. The play, as I was after- 
ward informed, was " The Jealous Wife." I now well remember 
that the violent temper of Mrs. Oakley, and the patient efforts of her 
husband to remove her jealousy, made such an impression upon my 
mind, as excited the disgust which 1 have mentioned, and which could 
only be subdued by the merits of the two amiable partners to whom 
I have since been united. The afterpiece was " Hob in the Well,"' 
and when Hob's parents came in search of him, and expressed great 
anxiety to find him, I started from my seat in the pit and exclaimed, 
" He is in the well !" The audience, I understood, enjoyed a hearty 
laugh at my innocence and simphcity. 

As therefore, notwithstanding my aversion to wedlock, I have been 
twice married, I may truly say, that I had equal repugnance to the 
idea of obtruding any circumstance of my humble life upon the world 
at large. The pecuniary shock, however, which I suffered from the 
perfidy of a deceased partner in the Sun newspaper, and the advice 
of friends, who think too favourably of me, have induced me to take 
ap the egotistical pen. Here, perhaps, some satirical critic will quote 
Pope, and hint, " Obliged by hunger and request of friends." Well, 
I shall answer in the words of m}' old friend Sheridan, *' I can laugh 
St his malice though not at his wit." I received besides an intimation 

B 



14 HECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

from an eminent publisher, that he would be glad if I would engage 
in such a work as the present. 

Never conceiving it possible that I should adopt such a measure, I 
had made no kind of preparation, and must resort to my memory 
for such facts as may present themselves, without the regularity of 
dates, contenting myself with rigid accuracy in my recitals of what 
has fallen within my own notice, or what I have derived from others 
on whose veracity I could depend. Dates, indeed, can be of no im- 
portance in such matters as I have to relate. I have therefore no oc- 
casion to regret that I have not followed the example of those who 
record the events of every day, lest, in the vicissitudes of life, they 
should be involved in circumstances for which they might be unable 
to account, and consequently be exposed to perplexing contingencies^ 
or to the misrepresentations of malice. 

" The little hero of his tale" may reasonably be expected to men- 
tion his origin. I am the eldest son of Mr. John Taylor, who for 
many years practised the profession of an oculist with the highest repu- 
tation, and a character universally respected in private life for integ- 
rity : he was also admired for his wit and humour. My father was 
the only son of the celebrated Chevalier Taylor, who was a pupil of 
the famous Mr. Cheselden. My grandfather, however, relinquished 
the general profession of a surgeon, and confined himself wholly to 
that of an oculist. He was appointed oculist to King George the 
Second, and afterward to every crowned head in Europe. 

I was born in a house which my father occupied at Highgate. He 
bad another at the same time in Hatton Garden. His household, as I 
afterward understood, consisted of two female servants and one foot- 
boy. He married early in life the daughter of a respectable trades- 
man, but as he was not sufficiently established in his profession to bear 
the probable expense of an increasing family, my maternal grandfather 
strongly opposed their union, and they were obliged to court in se^ 
crecy. Strange to say, the place which they chose for their court- 
ship was Bedlam, where, at that time, to the disgrace of the metrop- 
olis, casual visiters were admitted for a penny each. 

At length the respectable character of my father, and his attention 
to his profession, induced my grandfather to give his consent to the 
marriage. I was the first ofl'spring of this union, and as it appeared 
in due time that my father's family was likely to increase, Mr. Foot, 
the uncle of my late friend Jesse Foot, reflecting on the uncertain pro- 
fession of an oculist, advised him to contract his establishment in the 
following terms : " Taylor, you begin where you should end." Find- 
ing the expense of a growing family increase in proportion, my mother 
adding to it every year, my father took his advice, discharged his foot- 
boy, disposed of his one-horse chaise, a common vehicle at that time, 
relinquished his cottage at Highgate, and finally settled wholly in Hat- 
ton-garden, where he resided till his death, in the year 1787. He had 
been educated at Paris, was a good French and Latin scholar, and 
was much admired for his quickness at repartee. All the rest of his 
children, amounting to eleven, were born in Hatton Crarden. Five died 



DERRICK AND MRS. LESSIN6HAM. 15 

in infancy, but six were alive at his death, and now my sister and 
myself are the only survivors. The affection of my sister, together 
with her merits, both moral and intellectual, in a great degree com- 
pensate for the loss of the rest. 

My father's first great patient was the Duke of Ancaster, who es- 
teemed him as a companion, and had often invited him to pass the 
Christmas holidays at his seat in Lincolnshire. The duke had nearly 
succeeded in procuring for him the honour of being oculist to King 
George the Third, but the Duke of Bedford having had an operatioa 
for the cataract successfully performed by the Baron de Wenzel, ob- 
tained /the appointment for the baron. 

My second brother, who was a member of the College of Surgeons^, 
and myself, on the death of the baron, were appointed to the situation 
by the late Earl of Salisbury, who was then lord chamberlain. 

It may be observed, in reference to Mr. Foot, whom I have men- 
tioned, that people may give good advice without being able to adopt 
it. He was a respectable apothecary in flatton Garden, and accord- 
ing to report, had accumulated about twelve thousand pounds, but 
having ventured it in an unsuccessful speculation, he lost it all, and, 
as the phrase is, died broken-hearted. My late friend Jesse Foot, 
his nephew, had been apprenticed to him. The uncle was reserved 
and churlish ; the nephew had then the same sturdy independent 
spirit which marked his character through life. When the uncle 
uttered any complaint, Jesse, who was a scholar, always answered 
him in Latin, and as the former was but little acquainted with that 
language, it always put an end to his complaints, and induced him to 
quit the field. Jesse, however, assured me that he should not have 
answered in this manner if his uncle had not complained rather to 
show his authority than to correct any errors. 

All that I can recollect to have heard of what passed in my infancy, 
was, that my father was intimate with Derrick the poet, as he was 
then called, and that Derrick introduced a lady to my father and 
mother as his wife who, it afterward appeared was not so, and that 
then, so far as the lady was concerned, the connexion with my family 
ended. 

This lady, many years after, appeared on the stage under the name 
of Mrs. Lessingham, and was a comic actress of merit, as well as a 
very pretty woman. She was an extraordinary character, and one 
of her whims was to assume man's attire and frequent the coffee- 
houses, after her separation from Derrick. 

As Derrick wholly depended on his literary talents, he could not 
afford an expensive habitation, and therefore resided with Mrs. Les- 
singham, his nominal wife, in a floor two pair of stairs high, in Shoe- 
lane, Holborn. During their residence in this place, as the lady felt 
a strong propensity towards the stage, Derrick took great pains to 
prepare her for the theatrical profession. Her talents were not at 
all directed towards tragedj^ but she was, as I have already said, a 
good comic actress. I particularly recollect her performance of Mrs.. 
Sullen, and as there was no restraint of delicacy on her mind, sha 

B2 



16 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

took care to give some of the more prurient passages in the character 
with all due point and effect. 

When Derrick used to visit my father's cottage at Highgate, after 
a rural walk by himself, as there was no spare-bed in the house, he 
was accustomed to sleep in my cradle, with his legs resting on a 
chair at the bottom. He was a very little man. 

As his supposed wife was very pretty, and not likely to hold out 
against a siege of gallantry, it is not surprising that she was tempted 
to desert a poor poet, and a two-pair of stairs floor, in a low neigh- 
bourhood. As far as her history was generally known, she perhaps 
might have had as many lovers as Anacreon boasts of mistresses, 
though perhaps she could not so accurately recollect the number. 
One circumstance of her conduct ought to be mentioned, as it illus- 
trates the character of women of her description, and may operate 
as a warning to those who are likely to be ensnared by purchasable 
beauty. She had been separated from Derrick many years. In the 
mean time he had become generally known, and was countenanced 
by Dr. Johnson, to whom it is said, he suggested the omission of the 
word ocean in the first edition of his celebrated Dictionary. 

Mrs. Lessingham had risen on the stage, and was reported to be a 
favourite with the manager. She kept an elegant house in a fashion- 
able part of the town. Derrick, at this time, was able to support 
himself by his connexion with the booksellers, and by his literary pro- 
ductions ; and, without any pecuniary views, he was desirous to renew 
an acquaintance with his former pseudo-spouse. He therefore called 
on her, and sent up his name by her superb footman. The lady 
declared that she knew no person of that name, and ordered the ser- 
vant immediately to dismiss him. Derrick, conceiving that the man 
must have committed some mistake, insisted on seeing the lady. At 
length she came forward in sight of Derrick, called him an impudent 
fellow, and threatened to send for a constable unless he left the house. 

This unexpected reception from a woman who had lived with him 
some years, had borne his name, and by whose instruction she had 
been able to become a popular actress, and to rise into affluence, 
affected him so much that he was quite overcome, and immediately 
departed, though " more in sorrow than in anger." 

Derrick, after his separation from Mrs. Lessingham, or rather her 
desertion of him, lived in respectable society, and must have conducted 
himself properly, as he formed many fashionable connexions, who 
exerted themselves with so much zeal in his favour as to procure for 
him the situation of master of the ceremonies at Bath. He had pre- 
viously published a volume of his poems, and as there were a con- 
siderable number of subscribers, they afford an evident testimony in 
favour of his character. 

Like most of those who rise from obscurity, he was, on his eleva- 
tion at Bath, very fond of pomp and show. His dress was always 
line, and he kept a footman almost as fine as himself. When he visited 
London, his footman always walked behind him, and to show that he 
was his servant, he generally crossed the streets several times, that 



DERRICK AND MRS. LESSINGIIAM. 17 

the man might be seen to follow him. Derrick, I understand, was 
lively, but too familiar in his conversation ; and Mr. Oldys, the cele- 
brated literary antiquary, another intimate friend of my father, who 
Jived before my remembrance, thought him a flippant fellow, never 
spoke when Derrick was in the room, and when addressed by him, 
gave him short and discouraging answers. As Derrick honoured my 
birth by an ode, it would be ungrateful in me not to rescue so sublime 
a composition from oblivion, as perhaps no other production of his 
muse is now extant, 

ODE. 

Muse, give Dr. Taylor joy, 
For Dr. Taylor has a boy; 
Little Nancy brought him forth, 
Nancy, dame of mighty worth; 
May he like his mother shine, 
Who can boast of charms divine; 
Proving like his father wise. 
Always prompt to mind his eyes ; 
And may fortune in her flight. 
Always keep the child in sight. 

Derrick published four volumes of the poetical works of Dryden, 
which were the first collection of that author's poems. They are 
referred to by Dr. Johnson, in his life of Dryden. Derrick, in his 
own volume of poems, introduced the following lines as a genuine 
production of Pope, and as they have not appeared in any edition of 
Pope's works, and as it might now be difficult to find Derrick's 
volume, they may not improperly be introduced in this place. 

IMPROMPTU. : 
By Mr, Pope, on sleeping in a led lelonging to John Duke of Argyle, j 

With no poetic ardours fir'd, 

I press the bed where Wilmot lay ; 
f That here he lov'd, or here expir'd, 

Begets no numbers, grave or gay. 
Beneath thy roof, Argyle, are bred 

Such thoughts as prompt the brave to lie 
Stretch'd forth on honour's nobler bed 

Beneath a nobler roof, the sky. 

When Derrick died I know not, and I should not revert to Mrs, 
Lessingham, if she had not been so conspicuous in her day, and if 
her example did not hold forth a lesson against the influence of 
beauty devoid of moral principles. The manager before mentioned 
was very much attached to her, and she might have closed her days 
with as much comfort as intrusive retrospection, if ever it did intrude 
upon her, would admit, as he was a gentleman, shrewd, intelligent, 
and well acquainted with the world. She had two or three sons by 
him, who bore a satisfactory resemblance to the father, if indeed 
such mothers ever can be trusted. 

It was said, that after her desertion of Derrick, she was married to 



lO RECORDS OP MY LITE. 

^ naval gentleman named Stott ; and was subsequently under the 
protection of Admiral Boscawen. No doubt she had listened to the 
■addresses of many others who had no reason to consider themselves 
•as despairing lovers. The only improbable part of her acting in the 
character of Mrs. Sullen was in the chamber scene with Archer, 
as from her general manner it did not seem likely that she should re- 
sist his importunities when he appeared as a gentleman. 

Tiie theatrical manager had lauilt a house for her on Hampstead 
Heath, in a romantic and retired situation, as well as supported her in 
iier town residence, but nothing could control the inconstancy of her 
nature. Why, or when she left that gentleman, I never knew ; for, 
though I was very intimate with him, her name never occurred be- 
tween us. After she quitted him, she was sometime protected, as 
the delicate term is, by the late Justice Addington, whom she deserted 
for a young man engaged at Covent Garden theatre, and styled by 
his theatrical associates the teapot actor, as his attitudes seemed to 
be generally founded on the model of that useful vehicle of domestic 
xefreshment. The justice never mentioned her after but by the most 
^opprobrious appellations. 



CHAPTER 11. 

^ It is now time for me to return to what Mr. Gibbon styles " the 
'vainest and most disgusting of the pronouns," though certainly not so 
an the estimation of the late Lord Erskine. All that I know of my 
ancestors, — to adopt a word of importance to the proud, who think 
with Dr. Young that 

They who on glorious ancestors enlarge , 
Produce their debt instead of a discharge, — ^ 

I learned from Dr. Monsey, one of my father's earliest and warmest 
friends, who informed me that my great-grandfather was an eminent 
surgeon at Norwich, and highly respected in his private, as well as 
professional character. He had so grave and dignified an aspect and 
demeanour, that the superstitious among his neighbours imputed 
supernatural knowledge to him, and upon any disasters and losses 
consulted him as a conjuror. No mistake of that kind was ever 
made respecting any other part of our family that I ever heard of. 

Dr. Monsey related the following story as a proof of my great- 
grandfather's reputation for supernatural knowledge and wisdom. A 
^countryman had lost a silver spoon, and excited by my venerable 
:grandsire's reputed powers above the ordinary race of mankind, 
waited on him, requesting to know whether or not the spoon had been 
^Stolen, and, if so, desiring that he would enable him to discover the 



THE CHEVALIER TAYLOR. i.9 

thief. The old gentleman took him into a garret which contained 
nothing but an old chest of drawers, telling the simple rustic, that in 
order to effect the discovery he must raise the devil, asking him if he 
had resolution enough to face so formidable and terrific an appear- 
ance. The countryman assured him that he had, as his conscience 
was clear, and he could defy the devil and all his works. The sur- 
geon, after an awful warning, bade him open the first drawer, and tell 
what he saw. The man did so, and answered " Nothing." " Then," 
said the reputed seer, " he is not there." The old gentleman, again 
exhorting the m.an, in the most solemn manner, to summon all his 
fortitude for the next trial, directed him to open the second drawer. 
The mail did so, with unshaken firmness, and in answer to the same 
question repeated " Nothing." The venerable old gentleman simply 
said, " Then he is not there ;" but, with increased solemnity, endea- 
voured to impress the sturdy hind with such awe as to induce him to 
forbear from further inquiry, but in vain ; conscious integrity fortified 
his mind, and he determined to abide the event. My worthy an- 
cestor then, with an assumed expression of apprehension himself, or- 
dered him to prepare for the certain appearance of the evil spirit on 
opening the third drawer. The countryman, undismayed, resolutely 
pulled open the drawer, and being asked what he saw, said, " I see 
nothing but an empty purse." — ■'' Well," said the surgeon, " and is not 
that the devil ?" The honest countryman had sense enough to per- 
ceive the drift of this ludicrous trial, and immediately proclaimed it 
over the city of Norwich. The result was that my venerable and 
humorous ancestor was never again troubled with an appeal to his 
divining faculty and magical power, but was still more respected for 
the good sense and whimsical manner in which he had annihilated his 
supernatural character, and descended into a mere mortal. 

Such is the account of my great-grandfather, and I never en- 
deavoured, nor am I in the least solicitous, to trace the line to a more 
distant genealogy. This sagacious and sportive surgeon had two 
sons, one who was afterward so well known to the world as the 
celebrated Chevalier Taylor, and the principal oculist of his time. 
He was not only oculist to King George the Second, but to every 
sovereign in Europe. He published more than forty tracts, in all the 
continental languages, on the structure, disorders, and treatment of 
diseased eyes, which received the approbation of the best authorities. 

When my grandfather solicited the honour of being appointed 
oculist to Frederick the Great, King of Prussia, that monarch granted 
his request, but would not permit him to practise in his dominions, 
alleging that he should take care of the eyes of his subjects himself, 
that they might see no more than was necessary for the interest and 
glory of their country. It was, however, understood that the monarch 
had been told that to admit a foreigner to practise would be throwing 
an odium on the medical professors of his own territories. 

The chevalier, whom I was too young to remember, was, I have 
always heard, a tall, handsome man, and a great favourite with the 
ladies. He was much addicted to splendour in dress, and to aa 



^ RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

expensive style of domestic expenditure ; otherwise, with his higb 
professional reputation and acknowledged skill, he might no doubt 
Jiave left almost a princely fortune to his family. 

He published his own memoirs, in three volumes, in which he 
certainly shows no remarkable diffidence in recording his own talents 
and attainments, as well as the influence of his person and powers of 
conversation on the female sex. He had received the rudiments of 
iiis professional education under his venerable father at Norwich, 
but afterward attended all the medical and chirurgical schools of the 
metropolis, and became, as I have said, a favourite pupil of the 
celebrated Cheselden, to whom he dedicated one of his works on the 
disorders of the eyes. He not only distinguished himself as the chief 
practical oculist of his time, but also by his profound knowledge of 
ihe theory of vision, and his illustration of the physiological use of the 
several component parts of the organ of sight. The late Sir Walter 
Farquhar assured me, that he had often seen him perform the oper- 
ation of couching, or depression, of the cataract ; that he was most 
sedulous in his attention, and that his manual dexterity appeared like 
ihe touch of magic. He may indeed be said to have been born with 
a genius for his art. He sometimes adopted the present mode of 
extracting the cataract, or opake crystalline humour, but abandoned 
it as less certain and more dangerous than depression. 

Many years after, the celebrated Percival Pott, one of the best 
practical surgeons, according to general estimation, in this or any- 
other country, published a tract to demonstrate the superior ad- 
vantage of depression ; but extraction became the fashion in the 
medical world, still maintains its ascendency, and is certainly practised 
"with great skill and success by many eminent professors in this 
metropolis. I wish they were equally skilful in treating inflammations 
of the eye, or that they never indulged themselves in experimental 
practices on that essential organ of human happiness, as I have seen 
many dreadful victims of their injurious and destructive appUcations^ 
I may here not improperly introduce an anecdote relating to the 
subject. 

The Baron de Wenzel, in the earlier part of his life, had been a 
pupil of my grandfather, who, on hearing of the baron's extraordinary 
fame in London, and meeting him in company, privately hinted to 
him, that when he was his pupil he had not discovered such docility 
as to promise so high a degree of professional repute. The baron^ 
piqued at this remark, pointed to his shoes, which were decorated 
with brilliant diamonds, and simply said, " regardez vies houcles" but 
evidently spoke loud, in order to attract the attention of the company^ 
as well as of my grandfather. What answer the chevalier made I 
know not, but it was probably very sharp, as he was well known to> 
excel in repartee. The baron was chiefly raised into notice by his 
success in performing the operation of extraction on the eyes of the 
old Duke of Bedford, whose memory will ever live in the Letters of 
Junius. The duke not only rewarded the baron with five hundred 
pounds, but procured for him the honour of being oculist to his 



IMPOSITION OF HENRY JONES. 21 

majesty, which title my grandfather had enjoyed in the former reign. 
On the death of the baron, that honour, as I said before, was con- 
ferred upon myself, and upon my deceased brother, who practised 
in conjunction with me. 

When my grandfather for the last time quitted this country, as he 
never returned to it, I have no recollection of his voice, and should 
be equally forgetful of his person, if he had not, within six months 
after his departure, sent us a portrait of himself, painted at Rome by 
the Chevalier Rosco : it came while his features were fresh upon 
my memory, and was deemed by the family a very strong likeness, 
so strong, indeed, as often to cheat me into a belief that I distinctly 
remembered the original. This portrait is in my possession. It 
represents him in splendid attire, and in a dignified attitude, holding 
the instrument for couching in his hand, with an artificial eye, for the 
illustration of a lecture which he appears to be delivering. He was 
accustomed to deliver lectures on the structure and disorders of the 
eye, in London, Oxford, Cambridge, Edinburgh, Dublin, and^all places 
where a learned and scientific audience might be expected to attend. 

He went abroad soon after the publication of his own memoirs. 
1 remember to have read a criticism on this work in an old number 
of the Monthly Review, in which it was said that the chevalier was 
" a coxcomb, but a coxcomb of parts." Not long after there was a 
report, apparently authentic, that he had died abroad, and as he was: 
so conspicuous a character in his day, my father thought of writing 
his life, simply detaihng facts, and wholly free from that egotism 
which certainly characterized the chevalier's own biography ; and I 
believe he entered into an agreement for that purpose with Mr. Dods- 
ley, the predecessor of mv late excellent friend Mr. George Nicol, of 
Pall Mall. 

For this purpose my father had collected many curious particulars^ 
among which were several extraordinary adventures. Not being 
practised in literary pursuits, he submitted these materials to Mr. 
Henry Jones, the author of a tragedy entitled " The Earl of Essex," 
with whom he was then intimate. Jones was to mould these 
materials into a form suitable for publication, but being a carelesSj 
dissipated, and unprincipled man, he was obliged suddenly to leave 
his lodgings at Lambeth, where he was in debt for rent, and fearful 
of being discovered by other creditors, he left my father's MSS. 
behind, and they were said to have been consumed as waste paper. 

My father, pursuant to his agreement with Mr. Dodsley, having 
announced the intended work in the newspapers, and having given 
authority to Jones to prepare it for publication, that profligate scrib- 
bler impudently published a work in two volumes, partly from the 
recollection of my father's materials, but almost wholly of his own in- 
vention, entitled " The Life of the Chevalier Taylor, written by his 
Son." Shocked at this violation of confidence and of friendship, and 
at the low trash imputed to him, my father exposed the imposition in 
the daily newspapers of the time. But Jones, having been paid by 
the bookseller, or rathei; hy my father, in advance, to stimulate his 

B3 



^ RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

industry, there remained no remedy but the uncertain and expensive 
course of law, to which my father was always insuperably averse. 
He, of course, discarded Jones, who thereby lost an hospitable friend, 
and who, after a life of low debauchery, being found drunk under the 
shambles in Newport-market, was conveyed to St. Martin's work- 
>house, where he soon after died. 

Such, I understand, was the history of the work, and such the fate 
of its wretched author. Jones had been a bricklayer's labourer, but 
.having natural talents, he had turned his attention to literature, if scrib- 
bling for newspapers may be so termed, in which many of his poetical 
trifles had been inserted ; and after the successful representation of 
his tragedy, he attracted the notice of the great Earl of Chesterfield. 
He had offended that nobleman by some profligate conduct, and the 
«arl had withdrawn his patronage. Jones, in order to conciliate his 
benefactor, addressed some verses to him, on holding the knocker at 
his gate without having courage to make it sound, on account of his 
lordship's displeasure. These verses restored him to favour, but he 
soon forfeited it again by a return to his old habits of dissipation. 

The late Rev. William Peters, a member of the Royal Academy, 
chaplain to that institution, a good artist, and a particular friend of 
mine, eonfirmed all that I had heard of Jones, who was well known 
to him. He described Jones as an Irishman, with manners and accent 
of the lowest people of his country. He was fond of poetry and 
painting, and at every convivial, or rather drunken bout, always pro- 
posed a toast in their favour, pronounced in the following manner, 
viz : " The Pin and the Pincil." Mr. Peters told me that the last 
time he saw Jones was at a respectable public-house at the corner 
of Hart-street, in Bow-street, Covent Garden, where the landlord had 
just kicked him down stairs for attempting to take liberties with his 
wife. 

The tragedy of " The Earl of Essex" was favourably received on 
account of its own merits, but principally owing to the admirable 
manner in which the hero of the piece was represented by my father's 
and my old friend Mr. Ross. 



CHAPTER III. 

To return to my grandfather and his family. He had a brother, 
James Taylor, A. M. who entered into the church, and became one 
of the chaplains to George the Second. He was also chaplain to his 
majesty's own regiment of horse, and rector of Broadway, in the 
county of Dorset. He pubhshed a work entitled " Remarks on the 
German Empire ; with an historical account of the towns on the 
Rhine, and the operations of the campaign in 1743." His son, Philip 
^^iley Taylor, Esq. of Beccles Hall, Suffolk, was my godfather. This 



CHESELDEN AND MY FATHER. %B 

gentleman, during his permanent residence at his seat in Suffolk, for 
a year or two sent game to my father ; but, without any difference 
between them, all intercourse ceased till my grandfather, the cheva- 
lier, took my mother and me to his native city, Norwich, where I 
understood his fame was so widely spread that the church-bells were 
rung on his arrival. 

After passing some days at Norwich among relations and fz'iends, 
where many patients attended him, he proceeded with us on a visit 
to his nephew at Beccles Hall. All I remember of the place is, that 
it was a large mansion, with a spacious lawn before it ; but of the 
tenants I have no recollection. 

As my grandfather was, by all reports, a man of extraordinary 
talents, I may be permitted to dwell a little upon his character. He 
was, it seems, very fond of me, and wanted to take me abroad with 
him, promising to give me the best education, and to secure me a good 
fortune ; but as I was the eldest son, and my father expected that in 
due time I should be able to assist him in his profession, the offer was 
declined. As a proof of my grandfather's fondness for me, he would, 
throw himself on the floor in his rich attire, suffer me to sit on his 
breast as if I were on a horse, and give his laced neckcloth to me to 
hold as a bridle. I should be ashamed of recording such trifling inci- 
dents, if they did not tend to illustrate my grandfather's character. 

It is now time to say something of my father. Having struggled 
with difficulties in his youth, when he left the college Du Plessis m 
Paris, he came to London and resided with his mother till the return 
of the chevalier, who engaged him to assist him in his profession, and 
took pains to enable him to advance his own professional reputation. 
An incident opcurred soon after my father's arrival in London, which 
might have been attended with fatal consequences. Being dressed 
in Parisian gayety with bag and sword, and walking through South- 
wark fair, immortalized by Hogarth, he was taken for a young French- 
man. His fine white stockings were objects too tempting to a mis- 
chievous young butcher, who contrived to splash them from the kennel. 
My father was so incensed that he drew his sword and followed the 
butcher, who ran off, and easily escaped among the crowd, otherwise 
my father declared he was so incensed that he should have run him 
through the body. Some good-natured people hearing him speak 
with a Fren(ih accent, pitied him as a young foreigner, and soon ap- 
peased him. 

My father was some time patronized by Cheselden, who thought so 
much of his skill in diseases of the eye that he generally recommended 
patients to him. Cheselden published a tract relating an account of his 
own successful operation upon the cataracts of a boy who was born 
bhnd, and the extraordinary effect of sight upon the patient. 

Many years after, a similar case of a boy born blind came under the 
care of my father, who was equally successful in performing the same 
operation, and the result confirmed all that Mr. Cheselden had stated 
respecting the effect of novel vision on those who are born blind. It 
scarcely need be observed, that infants gradually acquire a knowledge 



^ RECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

©f external objects, but that to those who receive sight at a more ad- 
vanced stage of hfe all such objects form nothing but a confused mass, 
which they must learn to discriminate by degrees. 

My father's patient was a native of Ightham in Kent, and a young 
musician, who, though Wind, used to perform during the seasons at 
Tunbridge and other places. My father published an account of this 
case,- and it excited nearly as much attention in the medical world as 
that of Mr. Cheselden. A few of the effects of the case may be here 
properly mentioned. After the boy had obtained some power of dis- 
tinguishing external objects, by feeling them for some time, and look- 
ing hard at them, when presented to him, it was long before he had 
any notion of distances. If he wanted to take hold of any article that 
lie saw on the table, he generally made a snatch at it, and on such 
occasions darted his hand beyond the object or before it, and seldom 
reached it till after many attempts. The success of the operation ex- 
cited great attention in the neighbourhood where my father resided. 

An alarming proof of the patient's ignorance of distances occurred 
one night, which was fortunately observed by the watchman. The 
boy was going, as he stated afterward, to step from the top of the 
house in Hatton Garden over to Bartlett's Buildings, to catch hold of 
the' moon. The watchman, an intelligent man, who had heard of the 
case, luckily saw him as he was on the point of stepping forward, and 
uttered a loud shout, bidding him get back into the house immediately. 
The boy obeyed, much terrified, and retreated into the garret. The , 
watchman instantly apprized the family of what had happened, and 
care was taken to secure the boy from the recurrence of any such 
clanger. The boy, after he became familiar with his own reflection in 
a mirror, was fond of looking at his image, which he used to call 
his man, and said, " I can make my man do every thing that I do but 
shut his eyes." This case excited so much curiosity and attention,, 
that Worlidge, an eminent artist then in London, took a drawing of 
the patient, from which he made an etching, and published it. 

My great-grandfather performed the same operation a few years 
after, on a person born blind, with the same success, but the former 
case had been so generally known that the subsequent one excited 
little attention, except among the medical professors. It happened 
also that the case of a boy who was born blind was submitted to my 
care ; and I performed the operation at that old and respectable inn,, 
the Swan with Two Necks, in Lad-lane, near Cheapside. My late 
iDrother, a member of the College of Surgeons, and several country 
practitioners were present, and the operation completely succeeded* 
The boy was properly kept at the inn till he could distinguish objects 
and their relative distances. He returned in due time into the country,, 
snd the last intelligence I heard of him was from one of the proprie- 
tors of the inn, whom I accidentally met, and who informed me that 
my patient had obtained the complete use of sight in the eye operated 
upon, and that he was to have been brought to town fhat I might 
perform the operation on his other eye, but had died just before he 
was to have commenced his journey. 



PEATH OP THE CHEVALIER TAYLOK. 25 

I was first appointed oculist in ordinary to his late majesty, when 
Prince of Wales, in the year 1789, and in the following year to his 
royal father, George the Third. On the death of that revered 
monarch, I was honoured with the same appointment under his suc- 
cessor, George the Fourth. On my first appointment by his late 
majesty, when Prince of Wales, being known to be near-sighted, some 
wag wrote the following lines in a ministerial paper. The poetical 
satirist was, however, mistaken in supposing that there is a salary an- 
nexed to the office, though, indeed, I have heard that my grandfather,^ 
in the height of his fame and prosperity, had declined to receive the 
same salary allotted to the Poet Laureate. The following are the 
Jines : — • 

IMPROMPTU, 

On the af^ointraent of John Taylor, Esq. to he Oculist to Tiis Royal Highness the Princs 

of Wales. 

Oh ! Prince, since thou an oculist 

Hast ta'en into thy pay, 
'Tis hoped he'll chase dull party's mist, 

And spread truth's radiant day. 

But if, whate'er may he his skill. 

That mist we still shall find, 
The homely adage to fulfil, 

The blind* will lead the blind. 

About this time I began to turn my attention towards literary pur- 
suits, and particularly towards the public press, considering it a shorter 
and more probable path, than my profession afforded, to that inde- 
pendence which, from a very early period of my life, I was always 
anxious to attain. 

I shall take a little more notice of my family, a subject of no in- 
terest to the public at large, but rather an obtrusion on its patience, 
though dear to myself, and then direct ray attention to what I hope 
will be found of more " mark and likelihood." My good mother 
was allowed to have been very handsome in her early days, and so, 
indeed, she remained to a great degree within my recollection, al- 
lowing for the progress of time and the number of her children. 
The respect, affection, and gratitude due to her memory induce me 
to add that she possessed an excellent understanding, was fond of 
literature, conversant with history, an affectionate wife and mother, a 
sprightly, intelligent, and good-humoured companion, and always 
maintained a most exemplary character. 

After many years absence from this country, my grandfather's 
death was noticed in the following manner in a continental paper : — 
*' Having given sight to many thousands, the celebrated Chevalier 
Taylor lately died blind, at a very advanced age, in a convent at 
Prague." 

William Oldys, Esq. This gentleman, whose profound know- 
ledge of English literature has raised his name into high estimation 

* Mr. Taylor is said to be near-sighted, 



26 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

with literary antiquaries, and whose manuscripts are the subjects of 
frequent reference, was the intimate friend of my father, but as I was 
then an infant, what I know of him was derived from the accounts of 
my parents. All that I could recollect from this source of informa- 
tion, I communicated to my friend Mr. D'Israeli, who has inserted it in 
the second series of his very amusing work intituled " The Curiosi- 
ties of Literature." Mr. Oldys was, I understood, the natural son of 
a gentleman named Harris, who lived in a respectable style in Ken- 
sington Square. How he came to adopt the name of Oldys, or 
where he received his education, I never heard. My father, who 
was well acquainted with the Latin and French languages, informed 
me that Mr. Oldys was a sound scholar, though he chiefly devoted 
himself to English literature. Mr. Oldys was of a very reserved 
character, and when he passed his evenings at my father's house in 
Hatton Garden, he always preferred the fireside in the kitchen, that 
he might not be obliged to mingle with other visiters. He was so 
particular in his habits, that he could not smoke his pipe with ease, 
till his chair was fixed close to a particular crack in the floor. He 
had suffered the vicissitudes of fortune before my father knew him, 
but was then easy in his circumstances, having been appointed Nor- 
roy king-at-arms. 1 shall borrow from Mr. D'Israeli's work the 
account of this appointment as I related it to him, and as that gen- 
tleman has inserted it in the third volume of his new series. 

" Oldys, as my father informed me, lived many years in quiet ob- 
scurity in the Fleet prison, but at last was * spirited up' to make his 
situation known to the Duke of Norfolk of that time, who received 
Oldys's letter while he was at dinner with some friends. The duke 
immediately communicated the contents to the company, observing 
that he had long been anxious to know what had become of an old, 
though an humble friend, and was happy, by that letter, to find that 
he was still alive. He then called for his gentleman (a kind of humble 
friend whom noblemen used to retain under that name in former 
days), and desired him to go immediately to the Fleet prison with 
money for the immediate need of Oldys, to procure an account of 
his debts, and to discharge them. Oldys was soon after, either by the 
duke's gift or interest, appointed Norroy king-at-arms ; and I re- 
member that his official regalia came into my father's hands at his 
death." Mr. Oldys had been one of the librarians to the celebrated 
Harley, Earl of Oxford, and in that capacity had become known to 
the Duke of Norfolk. My father was appointed executor to Mr. 
Oldys, who had stood godfather to one of his sons. 

Soon after the Duke of Norfolk had removed all pecuniary diffi- 
culties from Mr. Oldys, he procured for him, as I have said, the situa- 
tion of Norroy king-at-arms, a situation peculiarly suited to his turn 
for antiquities. On some occasion, when the king-at-arms was 
obliged to ride on horseback in a public procession, the predecessor 
of Mr. Oldys in the cavalcade had a proclamation to read, but, con- 
fused by the noise of the surrounding multitude, he made many mis- 
takes, and, anxious to be accurate, he turned back to every passage to 



WILMAM OLDYS, ESQ. 27 

correct himself, and therefore appeared to the people to be an igno- 
rant blunderer. When Mr. Oldys had to recite the same proclama- 
tion, though he made, he said, more mistakes than his predecessor, he 
read on through thick and thin, never stopping a moment to correct 
his errors, and thereby excited the applause of the people, though he 
declared that the other gentleman had been much better qualified for 
the duty than himself. 

The shyness of Mr. Oldys's disposition, and the simplicity of his 
manners, had induced him to decline an introduction to my grand- 
father, the Chevalier Taylor, who v^^as always splendid in attire, and 
had been used to the chief societies in every court of Europe ; but 
my grandfather had heard so much of Mr. Oldys, that he resolved to 
be acquainted with him, and therefore one evening when Oldys was 
enjoying his philosophical pipe by the kitchen-fire, the chevalier 
invaded his retreat, and without ceremony addressed him in the Latin 
language. Oldys, surprised and gratified to find a scholar in a fine 
gentleman, threw off his reserve, answered him in the same language, 
and the colloquy continued for at least two hours, Oldys suspending 
his pipe all the time, my father, not so good a scholar, only occasion- 
ally interposing an illustrative remark. This anecdote, upon which 
the reader may implicitly depend, is a full refutation of the insolent 
abuse of my grandfather by Dr. Johnson, as recorded in the life of 
that literary hippopotamus by Mr. Boswell. The truth is, that among 
the faults and virtues of that great moralist, he could not eradicate 
envy from his mind, as he indeed has confessed in his works ; and in 
respect to colloquial latinity, he who was a sloven was no doubt mor- 
tified to be excelled by a beau, and this is probably the true cause of 
his illiberal and unjust description of my grandfather. 

On the death of Oldys, my father, who was his executor, became 
possessed of what property he left, which was very small, including 
his regalia as king-at-arms. Mr. Oldys had engaged to furnish a 
bookseller in the Strand, whose name was Walker, with ten years of 
the lifq of Shakspeare, unknown to the biographers and commentators, 
but he died, and " made no sign" of the projected work. • The book- 
seller made a demand of twenty guineas on my father, alleging that 
he had advanced that sum to Mr. Oldys, who had promised to provide 
the matter in question. My father paid this sum to the bookseller 
soon after he had attended the remains of his departed friend to the 
grave. The manuscripts of Oldys, consisting of a few books written 
in a small hand, and abundantly interlined, remained long in my 
father's possession, but by desire of Dr. Percy, afterward Bishop of 
Dromore, were submitted to his inspection, through the medium of 
Dr. Monsey, who was an intimate friend of Dr. Percy. They con- 
tinued in Dr. Percy's hands some years. He had known Mr. Oldys 
in the early part of his life, and spoke respectfully of his character. 
The last volume of Oldys's manuscripts that I ever saw, was at my 
friend the late Mr. William Gifford's house, in James-street, West- 
minster, while he was preparing a new edition of the works of Shir- 
ley ; and I learned from him that it was lent to him by Mr. Heber, 



28 RECORDS OP MY LIFE, 

Mr. Oldys told my father that he was the author of the little song 
■which was once admired, and which Mr. D'Israeli has introduced in 
his new series, relying upon the known veracity of Oldys from other 
sources besides the testimony of my parents. There is no great 
merit in the composition, but as it shows the benevolent and philo- 
sophic temper of the author, I shall submit it to the reader as an old 
family relick. 

Busy, curious, thirsty fly, 
Drink with me, and drink as 1 1 
Freely welcome to my cup, 
Couldst thou sip and sip it up : 
Make the most of life you may ; 
' Life is short and wears away. 

Both alike are mine and thine. 
Hastening quick to their decline ! 
Thine's a summer, mine no more. 
Though repeated to threescore 1 
Threescore summers when they're gone, "' 
"Will appear as short as one I _,,.i^^.„,ai j 

Tilburina says, " an oyster may be crossed in love," and so, per- 
haps, may a cold literary antiquary. Mr. Oldys frequently indulged 
his spleen in sarcasms against female inconstancy, and often concluded 
his remarks with the following couplet, but I know not whether it was 
composed by himself. 

If women were little as they are good, 

A peascod would make them a gown and a hood. 

My friend Mr. D'Israeli is mistaken in saying that, " on the deatli 
of Oldys, Dr. Kippis, editor of the Biographia Britannica, looked over 
the manuscripts." It was not till near thirty years after the death of 
Oldys that they v/ere submitted to his inspection, and at his recom- 
mendation .were purchased by the late Mr. Cadell. The funeral ex- 
penses had been paid by my father immediately after the interment 
of Oldys, and not, as Mr. D'Israeli says, by the " twenty guineas, 
which, perhaps, served to bury the writer." 

My friend Mr. Alexander Chalmers, to whom the literary world is 
indebted for many valuable works, chiefly biographical, has, I find^^ 
WTitteh a life of Mr. Oldys, which I have not seen, and I doubt not 
that it is marked by his usual candour, research, and fidelity. I must 
not, however mention Mr. Chalmers merely as a biographer, great 
as his merits are in that character, as he is the author of innumerable 
fugitive pieces, remarkable for fancy, humour, wit, and satire, which 
have been pubhshed anonymously, and have been always justly ad- 
mired. But I ought particularly to mention a work, in three octavo 
volumes, entitled " The Projector," which appeared in successive 
numbers through the Gentleman's Magazine, one of the oldest, indeed 
the oldest, and indisputably the most valuable of our periodical pro- 
ductions of a similar description, and which since its origin, a hundred 
years ago, has always maintained an undiminished reputation. M^^ 



'* JEMMY BROOKE.'* 29* 

Chalmers himself collected these numbers into three volumes, and, 
in point of ironical humour and sound moral tendency, they deserve 
a place in every library. 

Mr. D'Israeli mentions a caricature of the person of Mr. Oldyg^ 
drawn by the well-known Major Grose, with whom I had the pleasure 
of being acquainted, and who mentioned Mr. Oldys to me with great 
respect. The major was a man of great humour and learning. I 
shall, perhaps, have occasion to mention him hereafter. 



CHAPTER IV. 

One of my father's intimate and early friends was Mr. James 
Brooke, who lived till I was far advanced in life. Fie had been ap- 
prenticed to an engraver, and practised the business some years, but 
having had a good education, and possessing literary talents, he de- 
voted himself wholly to the profession of an author. His literary 
talents and political knowledge were so well known, that he was en- 
gaged to conduct " The North Briton," on the relinquishment of that 
work by Mr. Wilkes. He wrote several prologues and epilogues ira 
the early part of his life, and songs for Vauxhall Gardens. He was 
well known to all the wits of his time. 

Mr. Brooke was a distinguished member of convivial parties, and, 
ss a proof of the easy familiarity of his character, he was generally 
styled " Jemmy Brooke." He was particularly intimate with Ross the 
actor, Macklin, Hugh Kelly, and Goldsmith, as well as with Richard- 
son, the author of Clarissa, who stood godfather to his second daughter, 
christened by the name of that celebrated novel. 

There is in many families some overbearing friend, who takes great 
liberties and assumes much authority ; such was Mr. Brooke in ours. 
He exercised a control over the children ; but though it was irksome 
to us at the time, it was eventually a great advantage in forming our 
manners and directing our pursuits. He had married a very beautiful 
young woman, the daughter of a respectable tradesman in the city;, 
by whom he had three children, a son, who was my school-fellow at 
Ponder's End, Enfield, and two daughters. The daughters lived 
many years in our family. The elder is still alive, a venerable spin- 
ster. The younger was the third wife of the late Phihp Champion 
Crespigny, Esq. king's proctor, and member of parhament for Sud- 
bury. Knowing the early and almost infantine connexion between 
me and his wife, Mr. Crespigny obligingly offered to admit me into 
his office, as an indentured clerk, without a premium, though I believe 
that a thousand pounds is the sum usually required on such occasionSj^ 
and was probably higher in the office of king's proctor. My father.^ 
however, requiring my assistance in his profession as oculist, having 
a large family, and conceiving that he should find great difficulty ia 



iO RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

supporting me during the period of my clerkship, deemed it expedient 
to decline the generous offer. I have often thought with regret of 
having lost so favourable an opportunity, which, as Shakspeare says, 
ivas my " tide in the affairs of men." 

A whimsical circumstance took place in Mr. Brooke's youth. 
During the time of Bartholomew fair, young Brooke was absent 
from his father's house for two days, but as he was a very intelligent, 
as well as lively young man, in whose understanding his father placed 
great confidence, the family were not under any alarm. His father, 
during his absence, to show a country friend the humours of London, 
happened to enter one of the booths in Smithfield in the height of the 
fair, and the first object that attracted his attention was his own son 
on the stage, actively employed in what at that time was styled the 
"Jockey Dance," with a sportsman's cap and whip. It may be 
proper to observe, that Bartholomew fair was then of a more re- 
spectable description than it is at present, Yates, an admirable comic 
performer, and Shuter, who Garrick said was the best comic actor 
that he had ever seen, had each a booth at this fair ; and my father 
assured me that he had seen Mrs. Pritchard, who has been described 
as one of the very best actresses that ever adorned the British stage, 
perform at the fair. 

The talents of Mrs. Pritchard were confined neither to tragedy 
nor comedy ; she was equally excellent in both. Even the cynical 
Churchill bestows a high panegyric on her theatrical powers, and it 
it was acknowledged at the time that her Lady Macbeth was not 
more terrific than her Doll Common was humorous ; but she was 
equally successful in representing characters of the upper and middle 
ranks of life. The amiable and elegant Mr. William Whitehead, 
poet laureate of that time, testified his respect and esteem for this 
great actress, by writing her epitaph, which appears on a tablet in 
the Poets' Corner of Westminster Abbey ; yet Dr. Johnson has de- 
graded her memory by representing her as an ignorant woman, who 
talked of her "gownd." Surely so accomplished a scholar, and so 
intelligent a man as Mr. Whitehead was able to appreciate her char- 
acter, and he would hardly have annexed his name to the epitaph, 
had she been so ignorant as she is described by Dr. Johnson. 

Mr. Brooke was a man of a very irritable temper, and frequently 
gave way to the most violent impulses of sudden anger. His wife, a 
lovely and amiable woman, had for many years borne with patience 
the impetuosity of his nature, but at length her fortitude was exhausted, 
and she left him. Having no other resource, she adopted the theatri- 
cal profession, and was soon engaged at the Edinburgh theatre, where, 
in comic characters, particularly old ladies, she appeared to great 
advantage ; and many years afterward was engaged on the Norwich 
stage. Immediately after the retreat of his wife, Mr. Brooke, who 
possessed literary talents of no ordinary description, wrote an adver- 
tisement, which was inserted in the nevi'spapers of that time, address- 
ing his wife in the most pathetic manner, imploring her to return ; 
appealing to her feelings as a mother, and representing the forlorn 



MRS. BROOKE. 31 

and helpless state of her three children, deprived of maternal solicitude 
and alFection. Mrs. Brooke, however, having long and thoroughly 
tried his temper, considered it utterly incurable, and never renewed 
the intercourse. This advertisement was shown to me many years 
ago by the late Rev. Mr. Harpur, of the British Museum, who had 
extracted it from an old newspaper, and I remember it struck me as 
one of the most affecting compositions I had ever read. 

In the early part of my life, Mrs. Brooke came to London, and 
called on my mother, who had been a most affectionate friend, and, 
in effect, a mother to her daughters. I then saw her for a few minutes 
only, as 1 was obliged to leave home on some concern for my father, 
but remember that I was struck with the beauty of her countenance 
and the dignity of her figure. After sustaining an eminent station at 
the Norwich theatre during many years, she was afflicted with a 
cancer, which wholly unfitted her for the stage, and she was advised 
to come to London, and throw herself on the protection of her son- 
in-law, Mr. Crespigny, who was liberally disposed to afford her a 
suitable provision, and offered to give her an adequate sum of money, 
or settle an annuity upon her. She was advised to accept the first 
proposal, as it was observed that, if she exhausted the money before 
her death, it was probable she would then obtain the annuity. Which 
part of the alternative she accepted, I never heard, and never thought 
proper to inquire. 

On her arrival in London I was introduced to her by her daughters, 
who thought that as she had few acquaintances in London, I might 
occasionally visit her as an acceptable companion. In the whole 
course of my acquaintance with the female world, I never knew a 
more amiable and intelligent woman. Her face exhibited the 
interesting remains of great beauty, with the most benignant expres- 
sion of countenance. There is a portrait of her painted by Worlidge, 
an artist of high reputation in his day, which is now in the possession 
of her elder daughter. I have a mezzotinto print from this portrait. 
Mr. Boswell, in his account of his tour through the Highlands of 
Scotland, says that, in a public-house, he saw a similar print, and one 
of the celebrated Archibald Bower, who wrote the Lives of the 
Popes, and was proved to be an impostor in his account of his imprison- 
ment in the Inquisition. Mrs. Brooke, after bearing with fortitude and 
resignation, severe sufferings under her disorder, died in the year 1 782 , 
and was buried in the old church-yard at Marylebone. I attended 
lier funeral, as I did, many years after, that of her husband, both, as 
I understood, having expressed a desire that I should show this mark 
of respect to their remains. I never knew them together, and they 
never met after Mrs. Brooke's retreat from her husband. 

I must indulge myself, or, perhaps, rather my vanity, in the inser- 
tion of a short proof of her friendship, if not of her poetical powers. 
Sitting one evening with her, for indeed I never suffered a day to 
pass without seeing her, I took up the pen, and wrote a few lines 
extempore, intimating that it was odd, having scribbled so many 
verses upon indifferent subjects, that I had never written any upon 



32 KECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

her, who was so high in my esteem and friendship. She took the 
pen from me, and immediately produced the following answer. 

You say it is odd, my heart's dearest friend, 

That in verse you had never the thought to commend ■ 

Those virtues your kind partiality gives 

To one who, in truth, is as simple as lives — 

All the merit she claims is a friendship that's true, 

And her pride and her boast is her friendship with you. " 

a\s I was often profuse in expressing my high opinion of this lady„ 
whenever I was with her, she more than once desired that I would 
read a poem, entitled " The Squire of Dames," written by a Mr. 
Mendez, a rich gentleman of the Jewish persuasion. It is in Dods- 
ley's collection of poems. Mr, Mendez was the author of " The 
Chaplet," a musical afterpiece, which was very popular in its day. 
He also published a volume of poems, partly selected, and partly his 
own ' production. In this volume were included some stanzas to the 
celebrated Mrs. Woffington, beginning — 

Once more I'll tune the vocal shell ; 

which were generally attributed to Garrick, on account of his known 
partiality to that actress, but were really written by Sir* Charles 
Hanbury Williams, one of the most vigorous satirical poets of his 
time. They appear in the three volumes of his works published by 
Lord Holland, but are more creditable to his lordship's love of 
genius and his sense of humour, than to his regard for delicacy, as 
there are many passages in these volumes that ought never to have 
seen the light, however pointed, ingenious, and facetious.* 

Upon my asking Mrs. Brooke why she had so particularly desired 
me to read " The Squire of Dames," she declined telling me the rea- 
son, and said she left it to my own discernment. After having read 
the poem, and reflected on its drift, finding that the heroine, though 
deemed exemplary for virtue, appeared to have all the frailty which 
satirists impute to the female sex, I concluded that she intended to 
induce me to infer that I thought too favourably of her, and to inti- 
mate that she partook of all human errors, particularly those of her 
own sex.f 

* Sir Charles Hanbury Williams was our minister at the court of Prussia. Close 
to his residence in Berlin was a house of bad fame, which, soon after his arrival, was 
prohibited, in compliment to his representative character. Sir Charles deemed it 
necessary to apply to the Prussian government, requesting the restoration of the 
house in question, alleging that, while the house existed in its former state, he knew 
where to find his servants, but when it was abolished, they were so dispersed 
through the city, that he found it difficult to discover them. The house was then 
Testored to its former privilege, and the servants to a place where they were sure to 
be found. 

t Whatever might have been the errors of this amiable woman, the goodness or 
her heart, the benevolence of her disposition, and the rectitude of her principles, at 
least during the latter period of her life, may be properly received as an expiatory 
atonement for any thing that might have happened subsequent to her separation 
from her husband, who, if of a different temper, might have rendered her the dehght 
of his life, and the ornament of society. 



MR. FRATT, 



CHAPTER V. 

Mr. Pratt. — At the apartments of Mrs. Brooke, I first became 
acquainted with this gentleman, who had been many years known to 
the public, and whose productions, under the assumed name of Cour- 
leney Melmoth, were deservedly popular and productive. Mr. Pratt 
supposed, when he wrote to Mrs. Brooke, sohciting the pleasure of 
waiting on her, that he had addressed Mrs. Brooke, the fair author of 
*' Juha Mandeville," " Emily Montague," and the musical afterpiece 
of " Rosina :" the music of which was chiefly composed by my late 
friend Mr. Shield. On the first interview, at which I was present, 
he was informed of his mistake, but the good sense and pleasing 
manners of Mrs. Brooke induced him to cultivate the acquaintance, 
and I passed many instructive and pleasing hours in his company, till 
at length we became intimately connected. I afterward met him 
frequently at the house of the celebrated Mrs. Robinson, whom I 
shall mention in the course of these records. Though his works in 
general are of a sentimental and pathetic description, yet in company 
he displayed great humour, and abounded in ludicrdus anecdotes. I 
introduced him to Dr. Wolcot, whose original and peculiar genius he 
highly admired. They became intimate, and the collision of their 
powers furnished a very pleasant intellectual repast. Mr. Pratt was 
not born to fortune, and was, therefore, obliged to make his way in 
the world by his literary talents. Whether he was a classical 
scholar I know not, but from his intimacy with Mr. Potter, the trans- 
lator of the " Grecian Drama," and with the present Dr. Mavor, in 
conjunction with whom he published some works, as well as with 
Mr. Gibbon the historian, it may be inferred that he had a competent 
knowledge of classical literature. It is certain that he possessed no 
ordinary talents as a poet, and as a novel-writer, of which there are 
abundant proofs in his various and numerous productions. His first 
dramatic piece was a tragedy, entitled " The Fair Circassian," the 
title of a poem written by Dr. Croxall, which was much admired. 
The plot of this tragedy is not, however, founded upon the poem, but 
on Dr. Hawkesworth's interesting romance of " Almoran and Hamet." 
Dr. Hawkesworth was another of Pratt's intimate friends. Mrs, 
Barry was to have been the heroine of the play, but one of those 
caprices to which great theatrical performers are peculiarly subject, 
occurred, and it was assigned to Miss Farren, the late Countess of 
Derby. It was, I believe, her first appearance on Drury-lane, 
boards, at least in a tragic character ; but her natural good temper 
and her friendship for the author, induced her to undertake the part 
without hesitation. The play, as far as I recollect, was represented 
nine nights, and therefore produced a tolerable requital to the author. 

My old friend Mr. James Sayers, well known for his literary 



S4 RECOaPS OF MY MFE. 

talents as a caricaturist, made a ludicrous drawing of Miss Farren in 
the heroine, and published a print of it etched by himself. He also 
made a drawing of Mrs. Abington, in the character of Scrub, which 
she degraded herself by performing on one of her benefit nights. Mr. 
Sayers was so well known and so much admired for his knowledge 
and talents, that I must pay a short tribute to his memory. He was 
an attorney, and in partnership with another in Gray's-inn, but his 
partner was so fond of angling that he neglected all business to in- 
dulge himself in his favourite diversion, and Mr. Sayers deemed it 
proper to dissolve the connexion. Mr. Sayers was remarkable for a 
saturnine humour, and for his fertility and promptitude in sarcastic 
verses, as well for his skill in caricature drawings, which he engraved 
himself, and they constitute a very large collection. Many of them 
he presented to me, but I believe very few persons possess the whole 
collection. He was a very shrewd man, a warm politician, and a 
zealous Pittite. His most popular print was published at the time 
when Mr. Fox brought forward his memorable East India Bill, after 
his coalition with Lord North, which destroyed the reputation of both 
for political integrity. This print, which displayed great ingenuity 
and humour, represented Mr. Fox as Carlo Khan astride an elephant, 
the face of which had the features of Lord North, riding in Leaden- 
hall-street near the East India House. Mr. Sayers published many 
other prints on political subjects, and all in favour of the Pitt adminis- 
tration. He was an intimate friend of the Boydells, and selected 
many of the subjects for the artists when those enterprising patrons 
of painting, in conjunction with my late worthy frienc^ Mr. George 
Nicol, the bookseller to his majesty, instituted the Shakspeare Gallery 
in Pall Mall. 

On the death of Mr. Pitt, Mr. Sayers published a poem intituled 
" Elijah's Mantle," which was very popular at the time, and has since 
been erroneously attributed to Mr. Canning. The fertile imagination 
of Mr. Sayers, and his sarcastic humour, remained unexhausted till 
his death. One of his last publications was an heroic epistle to Mr. 
Winsor, the celebrated founder of the Gas Company, but who, for 
reasons which have not been satisfactorily explained, was precluded 
from the profits of his science and ingenuity. This poem abounded 
in wit, humour, and satire, and might fairly be compared with the 
memorable heroic epistle to Sir William Chambers, the author of 
which, like Junius, has never been discovered, but is now generally 
supposed to have been Mr. Mason, though so essentially different 
from all that gentleman's acknowledged productions, as to render the 
question doubtful with all critics of real judgment, taste, and acuteness. 

I knevf Mr. Sayers in early life, and nothing interrupted our 
friendship. The last time I had the pleasure of seeing him was at a 
dinner in Staple-inn Hall. He was a member of the society of that 
inn of court, and I had often the pleasure of dining with him at the 
same social board. He was usually very reserved at table ; and the 
rest of the members, who highly respected his character and enjoyed 
his conversation, left him to retain his own humour. As I knew his 



MR. PRATT. 3S 

powers, and wished to draw him forth, I always ventured to attack 
him with sportive hostility, in order to provoke him into action ; and I 
generally succeeded. I well knew that I was likely to suffer under 
so powerful an opponent, but I induced him to come forward with 
sallies highly gratifying to the company, and not less so to myself, for, 
if I suffered, I profited by the display of his intellectual energy and 
satirical humour. 

He never could resist the opportunity of indulging his turn for ridi- 
cule. I remember meeting him one morning at the house of our 
mutual friend the late Mr. John Kemble, just after the late Sir 
Thomas Lawrence, one of my oldest and most esteemed friends, had 
exhibited his fine whole-length portrait of that great actor, in the 
character of Hamlet philosophizing on the scull of Yorick. Mr. 
Sayers had made a drawing in ridicule of that picture. The draw- 
ing displayed much point and humour. ^Rfr. Kemble asked to look 
at it, and when it came into his hands, having a sincere friendship for 
Lawrence, he instantly placed it in his tciible-drawer, and told Mr. 
Sayers that he should never see it again, as a punishment for his 
attack on a work of great merit. I understood, however, that Mr. 
Sayers really intended to present the drawing to Mr. Kemble. The 
society of Staple-inn suffered a great loss in the death of Mr. Sayers, 
an event that was to me a subject of sincere regret. 

But I must return to Mr. Pratt. I am convinced that his heart 
was kind, benevolent, and friendly, though, as he subsisted wholly by 
his literary talents, I am afraid he was often under pecuniary embar- 
rassments. -He had tried the stage, and performed the characters of 
Phiiaster and Hamlet, at Covent Garden Theatre ; but though, no 
doubt, he supported both with " due emphasis and discretion," yet his 
walk was a kind of airy swing that rendered his acting at times 
rather ludicrous, as I have heard, for his performance took place long 
before I was acquainted with him. 

I was sorry, and indeed shocked, to see a letter from Miss Seward 
in the second volume of Mr. Polwhele's Memoirs, in which she gives 
a very severe account of the character and conduct of Mr. Pratt, 
after having been on the most friendly terms with him for many years. 
When Mr. Pratt first published his poem entitled " Sympathy," a 
work characterized by benevolence and poetry, she wrote an elabo- 
rate and most favourable commentary upon it, though she afterward 
thought proper to drop the connexion, and to revile its author in the 
grave. Even admitting that there might be some foundation for 
what she alleges against him, she must have been fully aware of it 
before she became his friendly commentator. Miss Seward, how- 
ever, was one of the last persons who should have assumed the office 
of a severe and moral censor, as it is well known that she suffered ths 
attentions of a public singer, a married man, who resided with his 
family at Lichfield, and was in the habit of receiving him almost daily. 
Admitting also that the connexion was innocent, and I have no rea- 
son to suppose that it was otherwise, surely it was acting in contempt 
of public opinion to withdraw a man from his duty to his wife aad 
family. 



36 RECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

It may be said of Miss Seward, 'as a writer of prose or poetry, 
that she " inclination fondly took for taste." Her poems are stiff and 
formal, and a great part of her literary reputation arose from the 
encomiums which Mr. Pratt bestowed on her, and on the kindness 
with which he brought her name forward to public notice. Her first 
production was a monody on the unfortunate Major Andre, who was 
executed as a spy in America during our lamentable contest with 
our former transatlantic colonies. It w^as not recommended by any 
original merit or poetical vigour, and the same may be said of all her 
subsequent productions, and her attempts at criticism are vain, weak, 
and affected. Mr. Pratt, who had really a sincere friendship for 
Miss Seward, deeply regretted the cessation of their amicable inter- 
course, and earnestly desired to know how he had offended her, but 
never could obtain a satisfactory answer. Little could he conceive 
it possible that in cold-blooded enmity she would have waited till his 
death to revile his memory. 

I am convinced that if Pratt had been born to a fortune, a great 
part of it would have been devoted to benevolence. He had written 
a copious account of his own life in two large volumes, of which he 
had made an abstract, and this he gave me to read at his lodgings, 
while he was writing something for the press which waited for him. 

In the early part of his life he had been in America, but in what 
employment I do not remember. I suppose he gave public recita- 
tions, as he afterward did at Edinburgh, Bath, and Dublin. He was 
for some time a curate in Lincolnshire, but tired of that occupation, 
he devoted himself entirely to the profession of an author. He ex- 
celled in epistolary composition. His second dramatic work v/as 
intituled " The School for Vanity," which owed its failure chiefly to 
the great number of letters that passed between the several characters 
in the play addressed to each other, insomuch that when the last 
letter was presented, the audience burst into a general laugh, and the 
piece was hurried to a conclusion, and I believe never brought for- 
ward again. In fact, he lived amid epistolary correspondents, and 
transferred his habits to the stage. This comedy he included in the 
four volumes of miscellanies which he afterward published. As he 
was once a popular writer, he must have derived great profits from 
his numerous works, but was sometimes in difficulties. Once, when 
he had just received twenty pounds unexpectedly, and had doubtless 
full occasion for that sum, having observed that I appeared grave, 
and, as he thought, melancholy, in company with three sisters whom 
we were frequently in the habit of visiting, and with whom I was 
generally in high spirits, he conceived that my apparent dejection 
resulted from some pecuniary pressure, and the next day he offered 
me his twenty pounds, telling me that all he requested was as early a 
return as convenient, his own situation exposing him to the mortifi- 
cation of pressing applications. He was totally mistaken as to the 
cause of my gravity. He was sometime in partnership with Mr. 
Clinch, a bookseller, at Bath, but preferring the writing to the vend- 
ing of books, he relinquished the concern. When I fii"st became 



MRS. KAUFFMAN — ^MR. PRA.TT. ^ 

acquainted with him, he was in the habit of gratifying the company 
with recitations from the poets, which he gave with impressive effect ; 
but latterly, the violent expression and energy of his delivery ren- 
dered it harsh and almost ludicrous. Poor Pratt ! he was one of my 
•earliest literary friends, and 1 cannot but feel much pleasure in the 
opportunity of rescuing his character from the relentless rancour of 
Miss Seward's posthumous defamation. 

The celebrated Angelica Kauffman, who was a friend of Mr. 
Pratt, presented drawings to him for the illustrations of some of his 
works. This lady I never had the pleasure of seeing, but by all 
accounts her person was highly interesting, and her manners and 
accomplishments were peculiarly attractive. It is said that Sir 
Joshua Reynolds, who was thoroughly acquainted with human nature, 
and never likely to be deceived in his estimate of individuals, was so 
much attached to her that he solicited her hand. It appeared, how- 
ever, that she refused him, as she was attached to thepate Sir Natha- 
mei Holland, then Mr. Dance, an eminent painter, whose portrait of 
Garrick, in the character of Richard the Third, is the best and most 
spirited representation of that unrivalled actor that ever appeared, 
though all the most distinguished artists of the time employed them- 
selves on the same admirable subject. The correspondence that had 
taken place between Mrs. Kauffman and Mr. Dance became known, 
and was thought to be of a very interesting description, insomuch that 
his majesty George the Third, who generally heard of any thing 
worth attention, requested Mr. Dance would permit him to peruse 
the letters that had passed between them during their courtship. 
What put a period to an intercourse which, being founded upon 
mutual attachment, held forth so favourable a prospect of mutual 
happiness, has never been developed, and is only matter of conjecture. 
Mrs. Kauffman, after the termination of this promising courtship, went 
abroad, and was unfortunately deluded into a marriage with a common 
footman, in Germany, who had assumed a title, and appeared to be a 
person of high rank and affluence. Mrs. Kauffman, it is said, by the 
intervention of friends had recourse to legal authorities, was enabled 
to separate from the impostor, but did not return to this country, and 
died a few years after, having never recovered her spirits after the 
shock of so degrading an allianpe. It is not a little surprising that a 
lady so intelligent and accomplished should have been the victim of 
such a deception. 

The end of Mr. Pratt was lamentable. He resided for a short 
time before his death at Birmingham, and was thrown from his 
horse. He suffered severe contusions by the fall. A fever ensued, 
•which in a few days deprived him of life. .a, 



RECORDS OF HT LIFE. 



CHAPTER VI. 

Among those persons with whom I became acquainted at the 
apartments of Mrs. Brooke, was Mr. Henry Griffith, one of the 
authors of the Letters of Henry and Frances, which were published 
in six volumes. These letters are of a romantic description, and 
perhaps abound with more quotations than are to be found in any 
other English work, except Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, though 
those in the latter are much more learned ; still the lovers of either 
sex, who may require extracts from the poets and other authors to 
strengthen their gallant effusions, can hardly apply to a more ample 
storehouse than to the Letters of Henry and Frances. The heroine 
of the correspondence was, I believe, Mr. Griffith's cousin, to whom 
he was married, and from all I heard, they were a happy couple. 
They were both authors by profession. His literary compositions 
•were chiefly written for magazines and newspapers, but I know not 
if he ever put his name to any of them. His wife displayed her 
literary powers with success. Her comedy of "The School for 
Rakes" was well received by the public, and had the advantage of 
being supported by the whole comic strength of the Drury-lane 
company during the management of Garrick. The chief performer 
was Reddish, who was a very respectable actor at that time, but 
•who, when not much past the prime of life, became insane, and 
never recovered. 1 saw him in St. Luke's Hospital, and found him- 
flattering himself that he should be able to resume his profession, and 
fulfil his engagement with the manager of Covent Cxarden Theatre, 
it v/as lamentable to observe the alteration in his person, manners, 
and attire. The change in the former might easily be accounted 
for, as he was necessarily confined to spare diet. He always dressed 
in his sane state like a gentleman, but in Bedlam he had all the tinsel 
finery of a strolling actor, or what is styled " shabby genteel." He 
seemed to be drinking a bowl of milk, which, though several visiters 
were present, he appeared eagerly to gobble like a hungry rustic. 

His insanity took place soon after an unlucky occurrence at 
Covent Garden, the first night of his engagement. He appeared m 
the part of Hamlet, and in the fencing scene between him and 
Laertes, Whitfield, who performed the latter character, made so 
clumsy a lunge, that he struck off the bagwig of Hamlet, and exposed 
his bald pate to the laughter of the audience. In conversing with 
him in Bedlam, I soothed him by telling him that I was present at 
the scene, and that though the accident had a risible effect, the 
audience knew the fault was wholly to be ascribed to the awkward- 
ness of his competitor. The mortification, however, made so strong 
an impression on his mind, that he never appeared on the stage again^ 
and, I heard, ended his days in the infirmary at York. He was the^ 



WILLIAM DONALDSON, ESQ. — HICY COOPCK. 39 

second husband of Mrs. Canning, the mother of our late eminent 
statesman Mr. George Canning. He distinguished himself chiefly 
in the characters of Edgar, Posthumus, and Henry the Sixth in the 
play of " Richard the Third." Poor Reddish ! 

The next friend of my father, whose memory I cherish with 
respect and affection, was William Donaldson, Esq. He was, I 
understood, the son of a gentleman of the bedchamber to King 
George the Second, but I have since been informed that such a 
situation was not likely to be occupied by a person unallied to 
nobility. That his father was a gentleman, and in good circumstances, 
is highly probable, as the son had partly received his education 
abroad, and was deemed a good Latin and French scholar. He had 
passed the meridian of life when I first knew him, though he had 
long been intimate with my father. His friendship for the latter 
induced him to give me an encouraging reception at his house on 
Turnham Green, which was always open to me when I could spare 
a few days, and my father did not require my assistance in his 
profession ; and I was always rejoiced at the opportunity of passing 
my time with so amiable and intelligent a man. My opinion of Mr. 
Donaldson's merits is supported by that of my friend Sir William 
Beechey, who knew him at an earlier period than I did, and who, 
being older and more experienced than myself, was better qualified 
to decide upon his character. There was a variety, intelligence, and 
spirit in his conversation, which I have seldom found in persons who 
have been more distinguished in the world, and admired for their 
convivial powers and store of anecdotes, particularly as he excelled 
in the imitation of foreign manners and languages, which enabled 
him to give a strong effect to every thing he said. He bought two 
houses at Turnham Green, one of which he occupied himself, and 
the other he let to Lucy Cooper, a lady more celebrated for wit and 
beauty than for chastity. She was distinguished in the regions of 
promiscuous gallantry at the time when Fanny Murray and Kitty 
Fisher were her chief rivals in the circles of dissipation. 

I will leave Mr. Donaldson for a few moments, as I write only 
from recollection, lest I should forget what might never recur to me. 
Lucy Cooper, the fair but faded tenant of Mr. Donaldson, I remember 
to have seen once, and she appeared to me to retain the traces of a 
face not strikingly handsome, but exhibiting nevertheless an expression 
of interesting languor. Her figure had probably been of the middle 
size, and her manner appeared to indicate the lady, with a softness 
bordering upon dejection. At this time she had for many years 
retired from what may be styled public life, and, with an annuity 
that enabled her to live comfortably, had fixed her residence at 
Turnham Green. She was reputed to be a woman of more under- 
standing than her fair rivals above mentioned, but with less ofFusage 
du monde. Knowing how uncertain are the wages of profligacy, she 
had, as I was informed, been anxious to prepare against the decay of 
beauty, and secure an independence against the winter of life. While 
she was under the protection, as it is styled, of a voung nobleman of 

C2 



4G SECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

great fortune, after he had been pouring forth vows of eternal attach- 
ment, Uke Prior's Celadon to his Ceha, Lucy Cooper thought it a 
good opportunity for her to try to induce him to settle upon her 
some permanent provision, and with a melancholy softness, adverting 
to the uncertainty of her situation, she asked him, if, after such an 
avowal of his fondness and unalterable constancy, he could bear to 
see her sink into poverty in age. The romance of the lover was: 
over in a moment, and he coolly answered, " No, for by,G — I would 
not then see you at all." Lucy used to relate this incident with a 
smile, and with a sarcastic compliment to the fidelity of man. 

During her residence at Turnham Green, a young good-looking 
man lived in the house with her, whose name was Richardson. He 
assumed the appearance of a clergyman, and being inoffensive in his 
manners, and considered as her relation, he was admitted into a club 
at the Packhorse, opposite to Mr. Donaldson's house. Dr. Wolcot, 
Mr. Jerningham, Mr. Jesse Foot, and myself, were afterward mem- 
bers of the same club, and also Dr. Griffith, the founder of " The 
Monthly Review." Lucy Cooper died after a lingering illness of 
some years. Richardson was then thrown upon the world, and soon 
after left the place. What became of him was not known, but having 
a good memory, I many years after recognised him in the capacity 
of a foreman at a woollen-draper's on Snow-hill. Not long after, I 
saw him at the head of a cook's shop in Newgate-street, slicing the 
beef for casual customers. His next transformation was into a 
butcher, opposite to Gray's-inn-lane, Holborn ; and finally, I saw 
him with a basket, lined with a clean napkin, parading the streets 
with country pork and poultry. I heard that he afterward became 
a baker, in King-street, Seven Dials. 

The last time I ever saw him was under the gateway leading from 
Henrietta-street, Covent Garden, to the churchyard, where we had 
both sought shelter from the rain. I saw evidently that he had 
recognised me through all his vicissitudes, as the juvenile visiter to 
Mr. Donaldson ; and as he stood near me, and looked at me with 
the utmost diffidence, as if subdued by misfortune, though decently 
attired, I entered into conversation with him, and he reminded me 
that he had often seen me since what he styled his happier days. I 
then observed that I had formerly supposed him to be a clergyman, 
and asked him if he had ever been a member of the church, merely 
to make him think that I viewed him with respect. He seemed 
gratified to talk with one who had seen him in better times, and told 
me that he came from a good family, that he was once a linen-draper, 
with a prosperous business in the neighbourhood of Grosvenor-square, 
but that keeping a saddle-horse, and aspiring beyond the rank of a 
tradesman, he had become a bankrupt, and, to secure himself from 
actual want, had formed a connexion with Lucy Cooper, who could 
leave him nothing at her death but good-will and kind wishes. He 
was obviously much affected when he spoke of the lady. He made 
no application for pecuniary assistance, nor, by his appearance at 
^hat time, did he seem to require it. It is probable, however, that 



William donaxdson, esq. — miss graham, 41 

lie underwent many other vicissitudes. He must be very old if still 
alive, but I hope he has been released from the caprices of fortune 
and the miseries of life, — miseries from which pride, wealth, and 
folly, as well as guilt, cannot escape in this world of universal trouble. 

I now return to Mr. Donaldson. He was the nephew of Mr» 
Wood, a gentleman who held a high post at the custom-house, and 
who wrote an answer to Lord Bolingbroke with so much candour 
and good sense, that the noble philosopher desired to be acquainted 
■with him. In one of his visits to his lordship at Battersea, he took 
young Donaldson with him. Mr. Donaldson told me he never sa%¥ 
J50 expressive a face as that of Lord Bolingbroke, and when his 
lordship looked at him, his eyes were so penetrating that he felt 
quite abashed. Whether Mr. Wood's book was on political or 
philosophical topics, I do not remember. Mr. Wood, in order to keep 
his nephew out of harm's way, employed him for a few hours every 
day at the custom-house. He lodged in the same house with his 
uncle in Chancery-lane. 

What induced Mr. Donaldson to visit Ireland at a later period, I 
know not. He there, however, became acquainted with a very fine 
woman, who proved in time an excellent actress: this was the cele- 
brated Mrs. Yates, who then v*^ent by the name of Miss Graham. 
Mr. Donaldson was a handsome man, and it is by no means surprising 
that his person, intelligent mind, and sprightly conversation, should 
have made an impression on Miss Graham, and that he should have 
been captivated by her fine figure and beautiful face. Mr. Thomas 
Sheridan, the father of my old friend Richard Brinsley Sheridan, 
was then a young man, and though of a grave character, was probably 
not insensible to the charms of a fine woman, and at that time, perhaps, 
there was not a finer than Miss Graham. She was to accompany 
Mr. Sheridan to England, and he had promised to endeavour to 
procure for her a situation on the London stage. When Miss 
Graham arrived in London, she attached herself wholly to Mr. 
Donaldson, who had returned to England, though not without some 
regard to appearance ; but they might be said to live together about 
two years. What put a stop to this intercourse I know not, but it is 
not improbable that Mr. Yates, one of the best comic actors of his 
time, had paid honourable addresses to Miss Graham, and that they 
w^ere soon afterward married. 

Beautiful as she was, she did not rise into eminence as an actress 
for many years, and then accidentally, as Mr. Murphy states in his 
" Life of Garrick." Mr. Murphy had presented his tragedy of " The 
Orphan of China" to Mr. Garrick, who had accepted it, and the hero- 
ine of the piece was assigned to Mrs. Cibber ; but that actress, like 
those who think themselves without a rival, would not decide whether 
she should condescend to act the part, but kept the author and manager 
in suspense. Finally, she pleaded ill health, and refused it. Mrs. 
Yates, whom the author had first preferred on account of the supe- 
rior grandeur of her person, had been prepared for the part, in order 
to provide against the illness or hesitating pride of Mrs. Cibber, and 



42 EECOKDS OF MY LIFE. 

she performed it so well, that she at once established her reputation 
as a first-rate actress, and after the death of Mrs. Gibber had no 
rival, till Mr. Barry brought Mrs. Dancer to London, who then 
divided with her the female part of the theatrical empire. Mrs. Yates 
had passed the meridian of life when I first saw her, but she had still 
fine remains of her former beauty, and was an excellent actress, 
though chiefly in tragedy. 

According to Mr. Donaldson's account, tliere was a remarkable 
change in the temper of Mrs. Yates after her rise to distinction. He 
said that while she resided with him she was meek, diffident, and 
timid ; but he heard that when she had risen to popularity she became 
imperious, overbearing, and arrogant. 8uch is too often the effect 
of power, though, perhaps, the mortifying consciousness of declining 
beauty might contribute to sour her temper. He told me that after 
he had been some years in Jamaica, and had returned to this country, 
as he was walking through the Flaymarket, a lady in a carriage 
saluted him with great earnestness, and eagerly repeated her friendly 
greetings. As the carriage was too distant for him to recognise the 
lady, he merely raised his hat. Finding that she was not known, and 
inferring, as he afterward conceived, that her person must have un- 
dergone a great change for the worse, she sunk back in the carriage 
with evident dejection. The gentleman in the carriage with her 
then projected his head, in order to see to whom her eager salu- 
tations were directed, and that gentleman was Mr. Yates, who at 
once enabled Mr. Donaldson to discover in the unknown fair one the 
object of his youthful admiration. 

Mr. Donaldson, in the early part of his life, married Miss Faulkener, 
then a celebrated singer atMarylebone Gardens. He was of a party 
of pleasure in a journey to Richmond by water. Every thing was 
provided for dinner on board of the vessel, and Miss Faulkener de- 
lighted the company so much by her musical powers, but particularly 
Mr. Donaldson, that he paid court to her, and being a handsome and 
sprightly man, soon gained her affections, and they were married. 
As Mr. Donaldson, in our frequent walks from Turnham Green to 
Richmond and London, informed me of most of the particulars of 
his life, I thought it strange that he never mentioned his marriage to 
me ; and all that my father or 1 ever knew of it was derived from 
the information of Mr. Peter Bardin, a respectable actor at the Good- 
mans Fields theatre, at the time when Garrick burst upon the world 
with a blaze of excellence that has never since been equalled. Mr. 
Bardin is mentioned in the History of the Stage, in which it is stated 
that he had offended the audience so much that he deemed it neces- 
sary to quit the theatre. Chetwood does not relate the nature of the 
offence. Bardin then became the manager of a provincial company 
of actors, and finally went to his native country, Ireland. When 
.Earry first brought Mrs. Dancer to London, Bardin accompanied 
them, and they all performed at the theatre in the Haymarket, where 
I saw them when very young, Barry in King Lear, Mrs. Dancer as 
Cordelia, and Bardin as Gloucester. Bardin was an intimate friend 



Bins. DONALDSON. . 45 

of Mr. Donaldson, and informed my father and myself that he not 
only kept up his connexion with Mr. Donaldson, but with his wife 
also, after iheir separation, as he had been their friend while they 
lived in conjugal happiness. 

According to Mr. Bardin's account, Mrs. Donaldson was obliged 
to fulfil her engagement as a singer at Marylebone Gardens, and 
during her performance, the Earl of Halifax was so charmed by her 
musical powers that he actually fainted with ecstacy. He soon 
became acquainted with her, and withdrew her from the protection 
of her husband. Mr. Bardin said that Mr. Donaldson at first deter- 
mined to send a challenge to his lordship, but, being persuaded froni 
putting his life in hazard for a woman whom he could never receive 
again without discredit to himself, he acquiesced in the opinion of his 
friends. Though possessed of the means of living like a gentleman, 
in order to dissipate the gloom arising from the infidelity of a beloved 
wife, he procured the situation of secretary to the government of 
Jamaica. Sir Henry Moore was then governor of the island, and 
Mr. Donaldson was admitted into his private friendship as well as to 
his official confidence. Mr. Donaldson always spoke of Sir Henry 
Moore with high respect and regard. Sir Henry first told the story 
of Monsieur Toason to Mr. Donaldson, from whom I learned it, and 
was in the habit of repeating it to my friends in prose ; but when 
Messrs, Fawcett, Holman, and Pope were giving readings and reci« 
tations at Freemasons' Hall, by their desire I versified it, and Mr. 
Fawcett delivered it with so much character and humour as to render 
it more popular than it could have been from any intrinsic merits. 
Mr. Donaldson gave the tale with admirable effect in prose, and 
when I complimented him on it, he assured me that he did not ap- 
proach the humorous manner in which he had heard it recited by 
Sir Henry Moore. Having acquired a competent fortune, Mr. 
Donaldson returned to this country, resided some years in Craven- 
street, and finally retired to Turnham Green, where my father first 
introduced me to him, and I found in him a " guide, philosopher, and 
friend," during many of the happiest days of my life. It is proper to 
mention that Mr. Johnson, the author of " The Adventures of a 
Guinea," in another of his works, giving an account of the connexion 
between Lord Halifax and Mrs. Donaldson, states that his lordship 
procured the appointment for Mr. Donaldson as a compensation for 
the loss of his wife ; but Mr. Bardin, who knew all the circumstances 
of the affair, and had no interest in concealing the truth froni my 
father, stated the matter as I have related it. And if I may believe 
Mrs. Rudd, Mr. Johnson was not a writer on w^hose veracity any 
dependence could be placed. I shall have occasion to mention him 
again. 

When Mr. Donaldson was in Jamaica, he became acquainted with 
the celebrated Constantia Phillips, then an old woman. This lady 
in her early days had been married to a Dutch merchant, named 
Muilman, who afterward deserted her, and left her to support her- 
self in the best way she could. She was a woman of great sense 



44 REOOKDS OF MY MFE' 

and accomplishments, and became acquainted with many of the 
higher ranks of noblemen in this country. The great Lord Chester- 
iield, if he may be so styled, thought so favourably of her talents, that 
lie advised her to write " The Economy of Female Life," as a sort of 
companion to Mr. Dodsley's excellent work " The Economy of 
Human Life." Constantia Phillips, at the time when Mr. Donaldson 
inew her in Jamaica, was married to a hair-dresser. She originally 
"went to that island with Mr. Needham, who possessed great property 
ihere, and was well known in the fashionable circles of London, 
She told Mr. Donaldson that, of all her admirers, she was most 
attached to Mr. Needham. I shall have occasion to mention this 
gentleman again, and therefore now take leave of Constantia Phillips^ 
3i is a melancholy reflection, that a woman so well qualified to adorR 
private life, even in the most polished circles of fashion, and who 
might have furnished an impressive example to her sex, should have 
been induced, or rather reduced, to accept the hand of a worthless 
Dutchman, and to become by his desertion the victim of misfortune,, 
misery, and disgrace. 

It appears strange to me, considering the many hours I passed with 
]VIr. Donaldson alone, as he communicated to me most of the circum- 
stances of his life, that he never touched upon the subject of his^ 
marriage with Miss Faulkener ; but as nothing can be more humi- 
liating to a man than the desertion of his wife, it is probable that pride 
and resentment kept him silent. 

Mr. Donaldson told me that once having betted twenty pounds on 
a horse at Newmarket, he won, but at the end of the race could not 
find the person who had lost. Returning to London the next day. 
his post-chaise was stopped by a highwayman, whom he immediately 
recognised as the loser of the day before. He addressed the high- 
wayman as follows : " Sir, I will give you all I have about me if yois 
•will pay me the twenty pounds which I won of you yesterday at 
[Newmarket." The man instantly spurred his horse, and was off in a 
moment. It is somewhat strange that, soon after Mr, Donaldson, 
landed in Jamaica, he saw the same man in a coffee-house. He ap- 
proached him, and in a whisper reminded him of his loss at New- 
market ; the man rushed out of the room, and, according to report, 
"went to the Blue Mountains, and was never heard of again. 

Mr. Donaldson was in real danger from another highwayman,, 
■who was celebrated in his day, and known as a fashionable man by 
the name of Maclaine. This man came from Ireland, and made a 
splendid figure for some time ; but as his means of support Vi^ere not 
ivnown, he was generally considered as a doubtful character. He 
was by all accounts a tall, showy, good-looking man, and a frequent 
visiter at Button's Coffee-house, founded, as is well known, by Addison, 
in favour of an old servant of the Warwick family, but never visited 
by him when driven from his home by the ill-humour of his wife ; he 
then resorted to Will's, on the opposite side of the same street, that 
he might not be reminded of domestic anxieties. Button's was on 
the south side of Russell-street, Covent Garden ; and Will's in the 



WILXIAM DONALDSON, ESQ. 45 

same street, at the corner of Bow-street. Button's became a private 
house, and Mrs. Inchbald lodged there. Mr. Donaldson, observino- 
that Maclaine paid particular attention to the bar-maid, the daughter 
of the landlord, gave a hint to the father of Maclaine's dubious 
character. The father cautioned his daughter against the addresses 
of Maclaine, and imprudently told her by whose advice he put her on 
her guard ; she as imprudently told Maclaine. The next time Donald- 
son visited the coffee-room, and was sitting in one of the boxes, 
Maclaine entered, and in a loud tone said, " Mr. Donaldson, I wish 
to spake to you in a private room." Mr. Donaldson being unarmed;, 
and naturally afraid of being alone with such a man, said in answer, 
that, as nothing could pass between them that he did not wish the 
whole world to know, he begged leave to decline the invitation. 
" Very well," said Maclaine, as he left the room, " we shall mate 
again." A day or two after, as Mr. Donaldson was walking near 
Richmond in the evening, he saw Maclaine on horseback, who, on 
perceiving him, spurred the animal, and was rapidly approaching him ; 
fortunately, at that moment a gentleman's carriage appeared in view, 
when Maclaine immediately turned his horse towards the carriage, 
and Donaldson hurried into the protection of Richmond as fast as 
possible. But for the appearance of the carriage, which presented 
better prey, it is probable that Maclaine would have shot Mr. Donald- 
son immediately. Maclaine a short time after committed a hio-hwav 
robbery, was tried, found guilty, and hanged at Tyburn. The public 
prints at the time, I understand, were full of accounts of this gentle- 
man highwayman, and I remember the following two stanzas of a 
song that was current at the time — 

Ye Smarts and ye Jemmies, ye Ramillie beaux, , 

With golden cock'd hats and with silver-laced clothes, 
Who by wit and invention your pockets maintain, 
Come pity the fate of poor Jemmy Maclaine. 

Derry down. 

He robb'd folks genteelly, he robb'd with an air, 
He robb'd them so well that he always took care ' 
My lord was not hurt, and my lady not frighted ; 
And instead of being hang'd lie deserv'd to be knighted. 

Derry down. 

Mr. Donaldson was considered a good scholar. In the earlier 
part of his life he published a kind of novel, entitled " The Life and 
Adventures of Sir Bartholomew Sapscull," obviously in the manner 
of that contemptible, nauseous, and obscene rhapsody, Tristram 
Shandy.* Mr. Donaldson's novel savours too much in some places 

* The author of " The Reverie, or a Flight to the Paradise of Fools," also the 
author of " The Adventures of a Guinea," a man of taste and judgment, men- 
tioning Sterne in the former work, says, " He was raised by the success of what he 
yrote some time ago, of which it may be difficult to determine whether its merit lay 
in its oddity, its obscenity, or its profaneness. However, the thing took with the 
public taste in an extraordinary manner. The novelty that recommended it being 
worn off, there was little or no notice taken of it. Besides, he had exhausted the^ 

C3 



^ RECORDS or srr mfm. 

of its vicious archetype, but contains shrewd observations on human 
life, interspersed with sound poUtical suggestions and allusions, more 
especially remarks on the important subject of agriculture, which he 
afterward expanded into a work entitled " Agriculture considered as 
a moral and political duty." Lord Kaimes commended this work in 
one of his later publications, but was wholly unacquainted with tKe 
author. Mr. Donaldson lived long enough to despise his juvenile 
novel, and to regret that he had ever written it. 

In his latter years he employed himself in an historical work, which 
he entitled " Portraits of the Kings of England," parts of which he 
condescended to read to me, thinking more favourably of me than I 
can presume to imagine that I had deserved. As far as I could ven- 
ture to form an opinion at the time, and from what I can still recol- 
lect, they appear to me to have shown an impartial examination of 
the characters and conduct of the respective monarchs, and also to 
have comprised a just, but unpretending history of the country. He 
had collected ample materials from the best authorities, and 1 cannot 
doubt that his work, when completed, would have been a valuable 
addition to British literature. He published a few numbers of a 
periodical work entitled " The Reformer," intended as a vindication 
of the measures of government against the attacks of the opposition. 
This must have been a disinterested work, as he was easy in his cir- 
cumstances, devoted to literary retirement, and wholl}'^ unconnected 
with ministers, but strongly attached to his majesty George the Third. 
On the death of the mother of that monarch, Mr. Donaldson wrote 
an elegy, in which he reviled her enemies, and discountenanced all the 
opprobrious insinuations of her alleged intimacy with his majesty's 
favourite northern minister. 

Mr. Owen Ruffhead, who published the Statutes at large, and 
wrote the life of Pope, from materials furnished by Bishop Warbur- 
ton, was one of Mr. Donaldson's most intimate friends. Mr, Donald- 
son described him as so plain a man, and with only one eye, that 
when he entered a room, every one was disposed to exclaim, " What 
an ugly man !" but when he joined in conversation, his voice was so 
sweet, and his manners so very engaging, that all seemed inclined to 
fall in love with him. It is somewhat strange that Mr. Owen Rulf' 
head should have been so conversant with the dry study of law, and 
_yet have displayed such a taste for literature as appears in his Life of 
Pope. Mr. Donaldson spoke high of his moral character. I knew 
a sister of Mr. Ruffhead. She was the wife of one of the officers 
of Chelsea Hospital, and she retained such an affection for him, that 
though he had been dead nearly forty years, the sense of her loss 
deeply affected her whenever he was mentioned. Mr, Bentley, who 
supplied the graphic illustrations to Gray's poem, lived at Turnham 

spirit of obscenity and profaneness in the first parts, that there remained nothing for 
him now but dregs, too coarse for the grossest taste." Such was the opinion of an 
enlightened writer on " Tristram Shandy," and I heartily wish that my humble 
concurrence were of force sufficient to bring the lantastic folly into universal 
^■^atempt. 



OWEN RUFFHEAD. WILLIAM DONALDSON, ESQ. 47 

Green, and was also an intimate friend of Mr. Donaldson, Dr. Grif- 
fiths, the founder of " The Monthly Review," a man of great expe- 
rience, and a good judge of mankind, used to characterize Donaldson 
and Bentley as " the eyes of Turnham Green." Mr. Donaldson was 
often a gratuitous contributor to " The Monthly Review." The 
" luminaries," however, would have been a more appropriate designa- 
tion, as the eyes only see, but the others irradiate. 

I will now state a few recollections of what I have heard 
from Mr. Donaldson, and then take a final leave of him. He told me 
that he was acquainted with a colonel, whose moral worth and 
scholastic attainments recommended him to the honour of being 
appointed tutor to one of the young princes. This gentleman had 
two sons of the most depraved character. The father had in vain 
endeavoured to reform them by precept, exhortation, and esample. 
They both became highwaymen ; one was taken, convicted of rob- 
bery, and ordered for execution. The brother went to see him in 
Newgate the night before the dreadful penalty of the law was to be 
enforced, and finding the culprit in the agonies of despair, after 
attempting to console him in the usual manner, suddenly exclaimed, 
<•' Why.do you snivel in this cowardly manner, when you must know 
that I shall meet you in hell next sessions V The fate of the wretched 
man had no effect upon the surviving profligate, whose flagitious 
career, a few weeks after, terminated in the same disastrous way. 
The father soon after resigned his employment, and sunk into the 
grave with unappeasable dejection. 

What the religious principles of Mr. Donaldson were, I never 
knew, but I am sure he had too manly a mind to give way to super- 
stition. The following circumstance, however, he told me as a fact 
in which he placed full confidence, on account of the character of the 
gentleman who related it. The latter was a particular friend of his, 
and a member of parliament. In order to attend the House of 
Commons, he had taken apartments in St. Anne's church-yard, 
Westminster. On the evening when he took possession, he was 
struck with something that appeared to him mysterious in the 
manner of the maid-servant, who looked like a man disguised, and 
he felt a very unpleasant emotion. This feeling was strengthened 
by a similar deportment in the mistress of the house, who soon after 
entered his room, and asked him if he wanted any thing before he re- 
tired to rest : disliking her manner, he soon dismissed her, and went 
to bed, but the disagreeable impression made on his mind by the maid 
and mistress kept him long awake ; at length, however, he fell asleep. 
During his sleep he dreamed that the corpse of a gentleman, who' 
had been murdered, was deposited in the cellar of the house. This 
dream co-operating with the unfavourable, or rather repulsive coun- 
tenances and demeanour of the two women, precluded all hopes of 
renewed sleep, and it being the summer season, he arose about five 
o'clock in the morning, took his hat, and resolved to quit a house of 
such alarm and terror. To his surprise, as he was leaving it, he met 
the mistress in the entry, dressed, as if she had never gone to bed. 



4S KECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

She seemed to be much agitated, and inquired his reason for wishing 
Jo go out so early in the morning. He hesitated a moment with in- 
creased alarm, and then told her that he expected a friend, who was 
40 arrive by a stage in Bishopsgate-street, and that he was going to 
meet him. He was suffered to go out of the house, and when re- 
vived by the open air, he felt, as he afterward declared, as if relieved 
from impending destruction. He stated that in a few hours after, he 
returned with a friend to whom he had told his dream, and the im- 
pression made on him by the maid and the mistress ; he, however, 
only laughed at him for his superstitious terrors, but on entering the 
house, they found that it was deserted, and calling in a gentleman 
who was accidentally passings they all descended to the cellar, and 
actually found a corpse in the state which the gentleman's dream had 
jepresented. 

Before I make any observations on the subject, I shall introduce a 
:recital of a similar description, and care not if skepticism sneer, or 
I'idicule deride, satisfied that 1 heard it from one on whose veracity 
I could most confidently depend. I will, however, now take leave 
of Mr. Donaldson, though I could with pleasure dwell much longer 
on the memory of so valuable a friend. 

The other extraordinary story to which I have alluded, I heard 
from what I consider unimpeachable authority. Mrs. Brooke, whom 
I have already mentioned, told me that she was drinking tea one 
evening in Fleet-street, where a medical gentleman was expected, 
iDUt did not arrive till late. Apologizing for his delay, he said he had 
attended a lady who suffered under a contracted throat, which occa- 
sioned her great difficulty in swallowing. She said that she traced 
ihe cause to the following circumstance. When she was a young 
■woman, and in bed with her mother, she dreamed that she was on 
the roof of a church, struggling with a man who attempted to throw 
lier over. He appeared in a carman's frock, and had red hair. Her 
mother ridiculed her terrors, and bade her compose herself to sleep 
again, but the impression of her dream was so strong, that she could 
3iot comply. In the evening of the following day, she had appointed 
to meet her lover at a bowling-green, from which he was to conduct 
her home when the amusement ended. She had passed over one 
iield in hopes of mxeeting the gentleman, and sung as she tripped 
along, when she entered the second field, and accidentally turning 
her head, she beheld, in the corner of the field, just such a man as 
her dream represented, dressed in a cartman's frock, with red hair^ 
and apparently approaching towards her. Her agitation was so 
great, that she ran with all her speed to the stile of the third field, 
and with difficulty got over it. Fatigued, however, with running, 
she sat on the stile to recover herself, and reflecting that the man 
might be harmless, she was afraid that her flight on seeing him might 
put evil and vindictive thoughts into his head. While in this medita- 
tion, the man had reached the stile, and seizing her by the neck, he 
dragged her over the stile, and she remembered no more. It appeared 
Ihat he had pulled off all her clothes, and thrown her into an adjoining 



AN EXTRAORDINARY STORY — DR. MONSEY. 4& 

ditch. Fortunately, a gentleman came to the spot, and observing a 
body above the water, he hailed others who were approaching, and 
it was immediately raised. It was evidently not dead, and some of 
the party remarking that the robber could not be far off, went in 
pursuit of him, leaving others to guard and endeavour to revive the 
body. The pursuers went different ways, and some, at no great 
distance, saw a man at a public-house sitting with a bundle before 
him. He seemed to be so much alarmed at the sight of the gentlemen, 
that they suspected him to be the culprit, and determined to examine 
the bundle, in which they found the dress of the lady, which some of 
them recognised. The man was, of course, immediately taken into 
custody, and was to be brought to trial at the approaching assizes. 
The lady, hov»^ever, was too ill to come into court, but appearances 
■were so strong against him that he was kept in close custody, and 
when she was able to give evidence, though he appeared at the trial 
with a different dress and with a wig on, she was struck with terror 
at the sight of him, and fainted, but gave evidence ; the culprit was 
convicted and executed. The medical gentleman added, that when 
she had finished her narrative, she declared that she felt the pressure 
of the man's hand on her neck while she related it, and that her 
throat had gradually contracted from the time when the melancholy 
event occurred. At length her throat became so contracted, that she 
was hardly able to receive the least sustenance. Mrs. Brooke never 
had an opportunity of knowing more of the lady. 



CHAPTER Vn. 

After the death of Mr. Donaldson, I was soon introduced by my 
father to Dr. Monsey, physician to Chelsea Hospital. He had been 
private and resident physician to the Earl of Godolphin, at his lordship's 
mansion in the Stable-yard, St. James's. In consequence of this 
connexion, and by his original humour, talents, and learning, he became 
known to some of the most distinguished of our nobility. He was 
very blunt in his manner, which has often been compared with that 
of Dean Swift. There was, however, this difference in their charac- 
ters : the dean would vent his temper often with brutal insolence and 
•without occasion ; Monsey was never harsh in his manner, except 
to correct folly, revile vice, and ridicule affectation. He was born 
at Swaffham, in Norfolk, where he had an extensive practice, and 
afterward went to Norwich. His medical tutor was a very famous 
physician in the county of Norfolk, named Sir Benjamin Wrench, the 
grandfather, as I understand, of Mr. Wrench, a popular actor on the 
London stage. Sir Benjamin was so mild in his manner and so bland 
in his utterance, that he gave occasion to the well-known, but perhaps 
nearly obsolete, designation of " Silver-tongued Sir Benjamin." Pr» 



'50 BECORDa OF MY LIFE. 

Monsey thought Sir Benjamin and old Dr. Heberden two of the 
wisest and most amiable men he had ever known, as well as two 
excellent physicians. There was a portrait of Sir Benjamin in 
Dr. Monsey's drawing-room at Chelsea Hospital, which the doctor 
often looked at with great reverence, and never without paying an 
affectionate tribute to his memory. The painting was by no means? 
unskilful as a work of art, and the portrait had that expression of 
mild benignity which was generally ascribed to the original. 

Dr. Monsey told the following story of Sir Benjamin, as a fact 
which he knew, but which I have since heard attributed to others. 
Sir Benjamin had visited a patient who had only given him a guinea 
as a fee, after a long and tedious consultation, which Sir Benjamin 
deemed an insufficient recompense. He therefore desired to have a 
lighted candle, though it was noon-day, and when he received it he 
stooped and looked about the room. Being asked if he missed any 
thing, he said he was afraid that he had dropped a guinea. The 
patient took the hint, and the doctor departed fully satisfied. 

Dr. Monsey was educated at Pembroke Hall, Cambridge, where 
he caught punning, but seldom condescended to practise it, yet he 
had all Dean Swift " by heart," to use the old expression. He used 
to relate many puns of his college contemporaries, which I have for- 
gotten. I remember only one, which is, perhaps, not worth reviving. 
An old member of St. John's College, the high mart of punning, 
observing a carpenter putting a wooden covering over a bell to pre- 
vent the rain from injuring it, told the carpenter that the covering 
was too small. The man respectfully declared that it was large 
enough. " Why," said the inveterate punster, " in spite of your cover- 
ing, the bell must be now so wet you can (w)ring it." 

Another sally of humour, though from a lower character, was of 
a higher order if intended. A querulous old fellow, high in one of 
the colleges, was perpetually complaining of something at the table. 
On one occasion he found fault with a large pewter dish which con- 
tained a calf's-head. The old gentleman declared that the dish was 
dirty, and the cook was ordered up to be sconced. " Why is this 
dish so dirty?" said old querulous. "Dirty," said the man, "it is so 
clean that you may see your face in it." All but the old gentleman 
took the answer as a good joke, if not accidental ; and the old gentle- 
man unconsciously continued his complaint. 

One story is certainly worth recording. Dr. Monsey, with two or 
three old members of the university, in the course of an evening 
walk, differed about a proper definition of man. While they were 
severally offering their notions on the subject, they came to a wall 
where an itinerant artist had drawn various representations of ani- 
mals, ships, &c. After complimenting him on his skill, one of the 
gentlemen asked him if he could draw an inference. " No," said the 
artist, " I never saw one." Logic then gave way to jocularity, and a 
man coming by with a fine team of horses, they stopped him, spoke 
highly of the condition of his horses, particularly admiring the first. 
*' That horse, carter," said another of the gentlemen, " seems to be 



LOBP SOMERS — DR. MONSEY. 51 

a very strong one ; I suppose he could draw a butt." The man 
assented. " Do you think he could draw an inference ?" — " Why," 
said the man, " he can draw any thing in reason." " There," said 
Monsey, " what becomes of your definition, when you met a man 
that could not draw an inference and a liorse that could V 

Before Monsey settled as a physician in London, he had been very 
intimate with Sir Robert Walpole. Sir Robert was fond of wit and 
humour, and sometimes gave a dinner to his friends at an inn in the 
neighbourhood of his own seat, Houghton Hall. The landlord of 
this inn was reputed to be a great wit, and Sir Robert admired his 
prompt humour so much, that he generally desired him after dinner 
to join the company and take his place at the social board. The 
company were generally gratified by the humour of the landlord, 
who by the encouragement of Sir Robert was admitted upon terms 
of equality. On one of these occasions, when Monsey was of the 
party, an old dull Norfolk baronet, who had nothing to recommend 
him but wealth, was so jealous of the attention which the landlord 
received, that he openly remonstrated with Sir Robert on his permit- 
ting such a man to sit in his company. The landlord modestly ob- 
served, that as Sir Robert, who gave the dinner, and all the gentle- 
men present, condescended to admit him, he saw no reason why 
the baronet should take exceptions. " Pho," said the baronet, " your 
father was a butcher." — " Well," said the landlord, " there is no great 
difference between your father and mine, for if my father hilled 
calves yours brought them upJ" All the company took the joke im- 
mediately, except the baronet, who replied, " What ! do you make 
my father a grazier V 

When Monsey established himself in London, his skill as a phy- 
sician and the oddity of his humour, as well as his professional sagacity, 
introduced him to persons of the highest rank, who had sense enough 
to overcome the pride of nobility. Among others was the Lord 
Townshend of that day. He told the doctor that when the great 
Lord Somers had fallen into imbecility, he was still apparently anxious 
to appear in the character of a statesman, regularly attending the 
cabinet council, where he sat in unobserving silence, and was regarded 
with great respect, but merely as a child before vt^hom any discussion 
might take place. The only symptom of remembrance or recog- 
nition that he discovered was when the Duke of Marlborough began 
to speak, and he then uttered a shouting noise, as if he recollected 
that his grace was the only authority upon a military subject that 
deserved attention. The duke, upon the breaking up of the council, 
always used to say to Lord Townshend, " If I am reduced to the state 
of Lord Somers, for Heaven's sake save me, save me." 

It happened unfortunately that his grace was reduced to a similar 
state of imbecility, and, like Lord Somers, would always attend the 
cabinet council. He was also so enfeebled in body, that he could 
not walk without the danger of falling, but so jealous that he refused 
assistance lest his weakness should be suspected ; and Lord Towns- 
hend used to say that upon such occasions he was obliged to pretend 



53 RECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

the floor was so slippery that he was in danger of falling at every step;,, 
and therefore begged his grace's arm, that they might support each 
other, and in this manner he cheated the duke into safety. The doctor 
had known one of the house-porters at Marlborough House when in 
a former service, and requested that he would permit him, as he 
never saw his grace, to conceal himself in a corner of the hall, that 
he might see the duke enter his sedan-chair when he went on an airing. 
The man consented, but desired the doctor not to let the duke see 
him, as his grace was always much disturbed at the sight of a stranger. 
The doctor went behind the door, but in his eagerness to see the 
duke, he projected his head too far, and caught his grace's eye. The 
duke, all the while that he was getting into the chair, and when he 
was seated, kept his eye steadily fixed on the doctor, and at the 
moment when the chairmen were carrying him away, Monsey saw his 
features gather into a whimper like a child, and tears start into his 
eyes. That respectable biographer, Archdeacon Coxe, in his life of 
the Duke of Marlborough, appears to represent him as having retained 
his mental powers to the last ; but as he derived his chief materials 
from the archives , of the family, it is not probable that they would 
comprise any records of imbecility, while Monsey's testimony v/as the 
evidence of an eyewitness, and corroborates that of Lord Towns- 
hend on the duke's attendance at the cabinet council. His grace's 
favourite and constant expression of censure was the word " silly" 

The duchess was asked how it happened that, among her many 
enemies, and the numerous attacks upon her, nothing was ever 
alleged against her conjugal fidelity. Her answer was, that as she 
had the handsomest and finest man in Europe, nobody would believe 
that she could listen to the jack-a-dandies of the day. The duchess 
was violent in her temper and coarse in her language, and Pope's 
character of Atossa was generally admitted at the time to be an 
exact portrait of her. It is well known that Lady Mary Churchill„ 
one of her daughters, who married the Earl of Godolphin, was very 
partial to Congreve the poet, who used generally to dine with her 
till his infirmities put an end to the intercourse. On the death of 
Congreve, she had a small statue of him placed always on her din- 
ner-table with a plate before it, and she used to address the figure as 
if a living person, offering to help him to whatever he preferred. 
The duchess, her mother, in her usual rough manner, never men- 
tioned her but by the name of Moll Congreve. 

The Earl of Godolphin, with whom Dr. Monsey resided, was a 
very mild and amiable nobleman, of a retired disposition. He was 
very fat and difficult to bleed ; but my father, who attended him as 
an oculist by Monsey's recommendation, always successfully per- 
formed the operation, and the earl requested his assistance in that 
way when his eyes were wholly unaffected. The noble lord only 
read two works, viz. "Burnet's History of his own Times," and 
"Colley Gibber's Apology." When he had perused these works 
throughout, he began them again, and seemed to be regardless of all 
other authors. On some occasions, the earl wishing to get rid of 



THE EARI. OF GODOLPHm — DR. MONSEY. 5S^ 

domestic state, used to dine in a private foom, at the Thatched 
House in St. James's-street, with Monsey alone. On one of these 
occasions, as Monsey sauntered up St. James's-street, leaving the 
earl over a newspaper, he met old Lord Townshend, who learning 
where Lord Godolphin was, said he would dine with him. Monsey 
bitterly regretted what he had said, but there was no remedy, as 
Lord Townshend was a rough, boisterous, determined man. When 
he entered the tavern-room, addressing Lord Godolphin, he said^ 
^' Now, my lord, I know you don't like this intrusion." The earl 
mildly said in answer, " Why, my lord, to say the truth, I really do 
not, because I have only ordered a dinner for Monsey and myself, 
and have nothing fit for your lordship unless you will wait." " No^ 
no," said Lord Townshend, " any thing will do for me ;" sitting down 
and indulging in a sort of tumultuous gayety, very unsuitable to the 
placid temper of Lord Godolphin. In the course of conversation. 
Lord Townshend said, " My lord, does Monsey flatter you ?" " I 
hope not," said the earl, mildly. Monsey immediately said, " I never 
practised flattery, because I think none but a knave could give it, 
and none but a fool receive it." " That may be," added Lord 
Townshend, " but by G — we all like it !" " I wish I had known 
your lordship's opinion," said Monsey, " before I had made my 
foolish speech." 

I do not mention this anecdote as interesting in itself, but as an 
illustration of character ; and Monsey was too conspicuous in his day 
to be unworthy of notice, and too much misconceived not to demand 
from friendship a vindication of his nature and conduct. The great 
Lord Chesterfield, as he is generally styled, who carried good- 
breeding perhaps to an excess, was very partial to Monsey, and bore 
with his peculiarities because he saw that, however rough his manner 
at times, it had always a moral tendency, and its purpose to con- 
demn, to expose, and to ridicule vice and folly. Lord Chief Justice 
de Grey, afterward Lord Walsingham, was also distinguished for 
the elegance and suavity of his manners in private life, and he ad- 
mired and cultivated an intercourse with Monsey, when he retired 
from the profession to which his talents, learning, and judicial con- 
duct did so much honour. I was to dine one day with the doctor at 
the governor's table in Chelsea Hospital, and soon after I arrived, 
Lord Walsingham came in his carriage to ask Monsey to accompany 
him home to dinner. The doctor, knowing that 1 heard him, in his 
usual blunt way, said, " I can't, ray lord, for I have a scoundrel to 
dine with me." " Then bring your scoundrel with you," said his 
lordship. The advanced age of the doctor, however, then on the 
verge, if not turned of ninety, and the thoughts of returning late at 
night, in the winter season, induced him to decline the invitation ^ 
and thus I missed the only opportunity that ever was presented to 
me of enjoying the society of two enlightened individuals, from the 
colhsion of whose talents and knowledge I might have derived great 
pleasure and important instruction. Lord Walsingham was the most 
elegant, clear, and eloquent forensic speaker it was ever my fortuna 



54 BECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

to hear. His voice was musical, his temper mild, yet firm, and his 
utterance remarkably distinct, without formality or affected precision. 
In this latter respect he strikingly resembled Garrick. 

Monsey and Garrick were for many years upon terms of the most 
intimate friendship, and Mrs. Garrick was particularly gratified 
with the blunt sincerity of the doctor's manner, except upon one 
■occasion. 

The doctor, as he himself related, had passed a few days at Gar- 
rick's seat at Hampton. On the Monday morning, Garrick went on 
horseback to town to attend to the business of the theatre. Monsey 
and Mrs. Garrick were to follow in the course of the day, and the 
doctor was to dine with them in Southampton-street. When they 
reached Turnham Green, Monsey corrected the lady in the pro- 
nunciation of an English word ; on which she expressed her surprise, 
as she declared she pronounced the English language so well that 
nobody took her for a foreigner. The doctor ridiculed her preten- 
sions to such accuracy, and the dispute became so vehement on both 
sides, tiiat the doctor was going to stop tlie coach, declaring that he 
would no longer sit with a woman so vain and foolish. Reflecting, 
however, that he might be obliged to walk all the way to town, he 
kept his seat, and neither spoke to the other for the remainder of the 
journey. The doctor, however, attended at dinner-time, but took no 
aiotice of Mrs. Garrick, nor she of him. At length Garrick observing 
this sullen silence on both sides, exclaimed, " Heydey ! what, have 
you two lovers fallen out 1 Sure something terrible must have hap- 
pened." The lady maintained a gloomy reserve, and left Monsey to 
tell the story. 

After he had related what had occurred, " And so," said Garrick, 
" you thought of punishing yourself for her vanity and folly, when 
you ought rather to have turned her out of the carriage for her 
obstinacy and ignorance ! Why, did you never hear of Potty Brice ?" 
Garrick then said, that though he employed one of the most honest 
and respectable linen-drapers in town, Mrs. Garrick went into an auc- 
tion-room and bought a large quantity of damaged stuff, and that when 
the auctioneer required her name, she thought that she should give that 
of an English gentlewoman, and not of a servant, when she intended 
to say Betty Price, but instead of that she pronounced it Potty Brice, 
and her own maid was obliged to explain it correctly. Monsey, 
however, whose spleen ended with a few rough words, paid the lady 
some rough compliment, and harmony was soon restored. It is an 
old observation, that " every thing begets its like," and so far as 
relates to Monsey's manner, it generated something of the same kind 
in his ordinary associates, for they usually addressed him with the 
same gross familiarity that characterized his own behaviour. This 
reciprocal freedom ahvays existed between him and Garrick. 

Monsey having heard one day that the Duke of Argyle and several 
ladies of distinction were to sup with Garrick, reproached the latter 
for not inviting him. " I would have asked you," said Garrick, " but 
you are too great a blackguard." " Why, you little scoundrel," said 



DR. WOLCOT — DR. MONSBY. 55 

Monsey, "ask Lord Godolphin, one of the best-bred men in the 
world, if I do not behave as well as the politest of his visiters." 
" Well " replied Garrick, " if you'll promise to behave properly, you 
shall come." Monsey promised accordingly, and attended. Garrick, 
however, gave the duke privately an intimation of Monsey's charac- 
ter. All went on well till Mrs. Garrick began to help her noble 
guests, in the intervals of which attention Monsey had several times 
presented his plate to her, but she was so occupied in showing 
her deference to the grandeur of the company, that she took no 
notice of him. At length, after presenting and withdrawing his 
plate, as fother parties engaged her attention, he could restrain 

himself no longer, and exclaimed, "Will you help me, you b ,or 

not?" Garrick fell back in his chair with laughter; the duke, though 
somewhat prepared for the oddity of Monsey's character, was struck 
witii surprise, and ail was consternation with the rest of the com- 
pany. Monsey, not the least abashed at the confusion which he had 
-excited, gave way to his humour, related some Vv'himsical anecdotes, 
and rendered the remainder of the evening a scene of good-humour 
tind merriment. 

I remember a similar instance when I dined with Mrs. Billington 
and her first husband at Brompton. Dr. Wolcot, the well-known 
Peter Pindar, was of the party. The doctor, who appeared to be 
hungry, eyed one dish with particular eagerness. Mr. Billington, who 
was an intelligent and agreeable man, with a waggish disposition, gave 
me a wink, and disregarded Wolcot's plate, under an appearance of 
respect to other persons near him. The doctor's appetite could be 
restrained no longer, and thrusting his fork into the dish, he exclaimed, 
" D — me, I will have this," to the surprise and amusement of all present, 
among whom was the celebrated Irish orator, Curran. After dinner, 
Curran and Wolcot drew close to each other and entered into con- 
versation. Curran introduced the subject of painting, and expressed 
his peculiar notions and views. After hearing him for some time, the 
doctor suddenly arose and left the room. As 1 came with him, I fol- 
lowed him to know if he was taken ill, or wished then to return to 
town. I found he was disgusted with the conversation of Curran, 
exclaiming, " Talk of Dr. Numpscull, ho would cut into a dozen such 
fellows as Curran." A Dr. Holton, who conducted " The Herald" 
newspaper at that time, was nicknamed Dr. Numpscull, because he 
had placed the poet's corner in the middle of the paper. 

A difference afterward took place between Dr. Wolcot and me, 
which lasted some years, but hearing, during the interval, from my 
friend Mr. Northcote, that he had dined the day before at Mr. God- 
win's, in company with Curran and Dr. Wolcot, I expressed a desire 
to know if the doctor had formed a more favourable opinion of the 
Irish wit than at the last interview. " That I can tell you," said Mr. 
Northcote, " for we walked home together." Speaking of Curran, 
said he, " Dr. Wolcot expressed great disgust at his presuming frivolity, 
and declared he would not insult his magpie by offering her that fel' 
low's brains for a dinner." 



56 RECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

I have been always puzzled by the contradictory opinions of Dr. 
Wolcot and my friend Joseph Richardson, on the powers of Mr. Cur- 
ran. I have stated the doctor's, but on asking Richardson his, he said 
that Curran was certainly a man of great genius. From what I heard 
from Curran myself, I confess I formed no favourable opinion of him, 
perhaps for want of compasses to measure his character at the meeting 
already mentioned. 

Before dinner, Mrs. Billington, addressing Curran, said, " I hear you 
are to be lord-chancellor for Ireland, and then I hope you will pro- 
cure some appointment for me." Curran, instead of modestly ex- 
pressing his doubt if ever he should be raised to such a situation,, 
simply said that he should always be happy to testify his respect for 
her. After dinner, he evidently endeavoured to impress Dr. Wolcot 
with a high opinion of his conversational talents. 1 heard him speak 
in precise terms of " a concatenated series of consecutive arguments," 
and other phrases which appeared to me redundant and verbose. 
Yet it cannot be supposed that the good sense of the Irish people 
would have raised Mr. Curran into unmerited distinction ; and the 
excellent biographical tribute which the son has paid to the memory 
of his father, appears to justify the national estimation. 

It is now full time for me to return to Dr. Monsey. Garrick gave 
the following account of the origin of his acquaintance with him. He 
said that being in the court at the Old Bailey, he heard a gentleman 
request a man who stood before him to move a little on one side, that 
he might have an opportunity of seeing the bench ; the man, however, 
a stout fellow, obstinately retained his station. The gentleman re- 
peated his request, but the fellow continued inflexible. At length 
the gentleman, in a tone somewhat louder than a whisper, said, " If I 
were not a coward, I would give you a blow even in the court." The 
oddity of the declaration induced Garrick to think he must be a sin- 
gular character, and he felt a wish to be acquainted with him, which 
desire increased when he knew that the gentleman was Dr. Monsey^ 
of whom he had often heard but never seen.* Garrick therefore con- 
trived to get introduced to the doctor, and for many years a close in- 
timacy subsisted between them. 

It may be asked, as Dr. Johnson says of Addison and Steele, what 
could divide such friends 1 " but," as he adds, " among the uncertainties 
of the human state, we are doomed to number the instability of friend- 
ship." Nor is the reference inapplicable, for Garrick and Monsey 
possessed such intellectual powers as might have qualified them for an 
intimacy with the former two distinguished characters. The cause 
of the separation, as I heard Monsey state, was as follows :— A feud 
arose in the theatre, perhaps on account of the memorable Chinese 
Festival, which Garrick in vain came forward to appease, and was 
grossly insulted. The circumstance having been mentioned on the 
following morning to Pulteney, Earl of Bath, when Monsey and a well- 

* This circumstance is differently stated in a memoir of the doctor in the Euro- 
pean Magazine of 1789, as having happened at the theatre, but I recollect MonseyV 
account precisely. 



DR. MONSEY AND WARBURTON. 5T 

Icnown literary character were present, the earl expressed his surprise 
that Garrick, who had fame enough as well as property, did not, after 
such an outrage, indignantly retire from public life. " Why, my lord," 
said Monsey, " Garrick knows that a guinea has cross on one side and 
pile on the other." Monsey positively assured me that this was all he 
littered on the occasion. The literary man, however, who probably 
had reasons for courting Garrick, reported the conversation to him, 
with doubtless some exaggeration of what Monsey had said. 

A few days after Monsey received an anonymous letter, with the 
words of Horace, "ZZzc Niger est, hunc tu Romans caveto," in which 
the writer, in a disguised hand and in very severe term?, reprobated 
those who abused a friend in his absence. Monsey having no suspi- 
cion who was the author, in a few days called as usual upon Garrick, 
but found the husband and wife so cold and repulsive in their recep- 
tion, that he took a hasty departure. On his way home it struck him 
that Garrick had written the letter, and on examining it he saw evident 
marks through the disguise of Garrick's hand. Monsey called the next 
day on Lord Bath, and mentioned hov/ he had been received by the 
Garricks, when his lordship agreed in the suspicion that Garrick wrote 
the letter, at the same time declaring that if he could discover the ma- 
lignant tale-bearer, he should never enter his doors again. The parties 
were never reconciled, and the separation must have been a great 
loss to both, as their humours were similar, and they afforded much 
amusement to each other. 

Monsey had a great contempt for Warburton, whose learning he 
distrusted, and whose abilities he despised. He told me that he once 
dined at Garrick's with Warburton and Dr. Brown, the author of "An 
Estimate on the Manners of the Times," of " An Essay on the Char- 
acteristics of Shaftesbury," and of the tragedy of" Barbarossa." He 
also wrote a poem on the death of Pope, forming a sort of parody on 
" The Essay on Man," which Warburton introduced into his edition of 
Pope's works. Brown was a more obsequious parasite to Warburton 
than even Bishop Hurd was reported to have been. After the dinner, 
and during the wine, Garrick said, partly in earnest and partly in jest, 
^' Now, Monsey, don't indulge in your usual freedom, but let us be a 
little serious." " Oh !" said Brown, " you may be sure that Monsey 
will restrain his strange humour before Dr. Warburton, as he is afraid 
of him." Monsey said that he waited a moment or two, to hear 
whether Warburton would say any thing in rebuke to Brown, and ask 
why Dr. Monsey should be afraid of him ; but as Warburton maintained 
a kind of proud silence, Monsey said, " No, sir, I am neither afraid of 
Dr. Warburton nor of his Jack-pudding." This sally produced a 
solemn pause, to the confusion of Garrick, who saw it was hopeless to 
festore good-humour, and the party soon broke up. 

As I do not profess to write with any regard to regular order, but 
relate my recollections when they occur to me, I may be permitted 
to say a few words more of Warburton, who was once addressed in 
a pamphlet, " To the most impudent man alive," and to whom proud 
and insolent might have been very properly added. Quin was in the 



5S hecords of my life. 

habit of meeting Warburton at Mr. Allen's, at Prior Park, near Bath, 
Quin was a discerning man, and above all sycophantic arts. He had 
often observed the interested servility of Warburton towards Mr. 
Allen. Warburton was mortified at the superior powers of conver- 
sation which Quin possessed, but was afraid of encountering his tal- 
ents for prompt repartee. On one occasion, after a conversation on 
the subject of the martyrdom of Charles the First, for the justice of 
which Quin contended, Warburton asked him " by what law the king 
was condemned." Quin, with his usual energy, exclaimed, " By all 
the law which he had left in the land !" an answer which was more 
ingenious than founded in truth and reason, but which, however, at 
once put an end to the controversy. 

On another occasion, when Warburton with grave subtlety endeav- 
oured to degrade Quin from the social and equal companion to the 
player, he professed his desire to hear Mr. Quin recite something from 
the drama, as he had not an opportunity of hearing him on the stage. 
Quin delivered the speech from Otway's " Pierre," in which there is 
the following passage : — 

Honest men 
Are the soft, easy cushions on which knaves 
Repose and fatten, 

alternately looking at Allen and Warburton in so marked a manner 
that the reference was understood by all the company, and effectually 
prevented any subsequent attacks from the divine on the actor. 

An evident proof of Warburton's pride was related to me by Dr. 
Wolcot. The doctor knew a cousin of Mr. Allen, a chattering old 
woman ; she told Wolcot that people in general were much mistaken 
in supposing that Dr. Warburton was a proud man, for she had often 
met him at her cousin Allen's in the company of lords and bishops an^l 
other high people, and he paid more attention to her, and talked more 
with her than with any of the great folks who were present. 

This fact fully illustrates Warburton's character, as it shows that he 
manifested his indifference, if not contempt, of the higher visiters by 
his familiarity with an ignorant woman, from whom he could receive 
no entertainment, except what his vanity derived from the conscious- 
ness of his own superiority. It has always been wonderful to me 
that Warburton should have acquired so high a reputation. His inso- 
lence, vanity, and ridiculous ambition of superior penetration, have been 
ably exposed by the severe criticism on his " Comments on Shak- 
speare's text," by M\\ Heath, in his revisal of that text, and by the 
caustic humour of Mr. Edwards on the same subject.* Beautiful as 
the " Essay on Man" is as a poem, it is an inconsistent jumble of reli- 
gion and philosophy. There are many passages in favour of fatalism 
which Warburton has attempted to reconcile and defend as support- 
ing the Christian faith and doctrines, but with refining sophistry, if 

* The arrogance of Warburton is well, described in a wmk called " The Revery, 
or a Flight to the Paradise of Fools," mentioned before, written by the author of " The 
Adventures of a Guinea," of whom more hereafteri 



WARBURTON MR. BOSW£LI<, JR. 59 

not with interested dissimulation and pitiable prejudice. How Pope 
could be content with such a vindication of his poem is surprising, as 
the frequent references to fatalism in Warburton's defence must have 
convinced him that his poem was liable in that respect to all the ob- 
jections which had been urged against it. It was generally reported 
that the passage in the comedy of " The Hypocrite," where Mawworm,. 
speaking of his wife when addressing Cantwell, says, " Between you 
and me, doctor, Molly is breeding again," was a copy of what War- 
burton had said to ^friendly clergyman, with whose wife he was sup- 
posed to be upon too intimate a footing. 

There is a curious letter of Warburton's, written to Concanen, one 
of Pope's enemies, degrading the genius of the poet, before he had 
discovered the importance which he might derive from an alliance 
with him. This letter Mr. Malone has copied and introduced at the 
end of the play of •' Julius Csesar," in his edition of the works of Shak- 
speare. I asked the late James Boswell, the son of Johnson's biog- 
rapher, what had become of the original of that letter, and he told me 
that he could not find it among the papers of Mr. Malone, to whom 
he was executor. 

I cannot refrain from breaking in upon the progress of my narra- 
tive, as I have often done, in order to pay a tribute to Mr. Boswell, jr. 
I have frequently dined with him at a Mr. Nealson's, a stock-broker to 
the banking-houses of Coutts and Snow, and also at Mr. John Kem- 
ble's and Dr. George Pearson's, and have always found him to be a man 
of learning, wit, and humour, and one of the most honourable charac- 
ters that I ever knew. He died after a very few days' illness, in th© 
prime of life, to the regret of all his friends. He was an intimate friend 
of the celebrated General Paoli, who, I believe, appointed him one of 
his executors. I was very intimate with his father, the biographer of 
Johnson, and remember dining with him at Guildhall, when the elder 
Alderman Boydell gave his grand civic festival on being raised to the 
mayoralty. Mr. Pitt honoured the table on that occasion with his 
presence, and when the company removed to a room appropriated to 
sociality, I had the pleasure of sitting near the great minister and Sir 
Joshua Reynolds. In a short time Mr. Boswell contrived to be asked 
to favour the company with a song. He declared his readiness to 
comply, but first delivered a short preface, in which he observed that 
it had been his good fortune to be introduced to several of the poten- 
tates, and most of the great characters of Europe, but with all his en- 
deavours he had never been successful in obtaining an introduction 
to a gentleman who was an honour to his country, and whose talents 
he held in the highest esteem and admiration. 

It was evident to all the company that Mr. Boswell alluded to Mr. 
Pitt, who sat with all the dignified silence of a marble statue, though 
indeed in such a situation he could not but take the reference to him- 
self. Mr. Boswell then sang a song of his own composition, which 
was a parody on Dibdin's " Sweet little Cherub," under the title of 
" A grocer of London," which rendered the reference to Mr. Pitt 
too evident to be mistaken, as the great minister was then a member 



60 BECORDS OI! MY LIFE. 

of the Grocers' Company. This song Mr. Boswell, partly volunteer- 
ing and partly pressed by the company, sang at least six times, inso- 
much that Mr. Pitt was obliged to relax from his gravity, and join in 
the general laugh at the oddity of Mr. Boswell's character. Bos- 
well and I came away together, both in so convivial a mood that we 
roared out all the way " The grocer of London," till we reached 
Hatton Garden, where I then resided, to the annoyance of many 
watchmen whom we roused from their peaceful slumbers, without 
however being taken into custody for disturbing their repose. In 
the course of the evening Mr. Boswell and I happened to differ 
about the meaning of a word. I met him the next day about twelve 
o'clock near St. Dunstan's church, as fresh as a rose. He" recollected 
our dispute, and took me into a bookseller's shop to refer to John- 
son's Dictionary, but which of us was right I cannot now recollect. 

I introduced Dr. VVolcot to Dr. Monsey a few months before the 
death of the latter, of whom Wolcot made an admirable likeness, 
which Monsey left to me, and which I presented to Mr. Soane, the 
architect, in return for much kindness on his part. Wolcot and Mon- 
sey did not harmonize, though they were both men of learning, both 
well acquainted with the world, and similar in their opinions of it. 
Monsey had the highest admiration of Pope, and Wolcot, though also 
a warm admirer of the poet, was too much inclined to criticise some 
of the passages which Monsey quoted, who could not bear to have 
opinions long rooted in his mind attacked with unexpected severity. 
Therefore, when the portrait was finished, Monsey desired that I 
would bring Wolcot no more. Dr. Monsey had the utmost con- 
tempt for funeral ceremonies, and exacted a promise from his daughter 
that she would not interfere with the arrangement which he had made 
with Mr. Thompson Forster, the surgeon, for the disposal of his body, 
conceiving that whenever it was dissected by that gentleman, some- 
thing might occur for the illustration and advancement of anatomy. 
" What can it signify to me," said he, " whether my carcass is cut up 
by the knife of a surgeon, or the tooth of a worm ?" He had a large 
box in his chambers at Chelsea, full of air-holes, for the purpose of 
carrying his body to Mr. Forster in case he should be in a trance 
when supposed to be dead. It was provided with poles like a sedan- 
chair. He was accustomed to say that he should die,^ as his father 
did, without any real or nominal complaint, and go out like the snufF 
of a candle ; generally adding, " I wish I were dead, but, like all fools 
and all wits, I am afraid to die." He exacted another promise from 
Ms daughter, importing that after his death she should not live within 
a certain distance of London, conceiving that she might be tempted 
to launch into expense beyond her income. 

His daughter had been married to Mr. Alexander, a wholesale 
linen draper in Cateaton-street, and, I believe, great uncle to the 
present Lord Caledon. I was intimately acquainted with one of their 
relations, Mr. Henry Alexander, who w^as a member of the House of 
Commons, and afterward secretary to Lord Caledon, during hisgo- 
yernment at the Cape of Good Hope. Harry Alexander, as he was 



MRS. MONTAGUE — UR. MONSEV. 6^J 

generally styled, was a scholar and a gentleman. He had a great 
command of words, but never affected oratory, and his voice being 
unequal, he was not attended to as he ought to have been, as his un- 
derstanding was sound, and his matter always solid. The inequality 
of his tones in parliament procured him, as I have heard, the name 
of " Bubble and Squeak." He was, however, an excellent man, and 
I revere his memory. I have some pride in recollecting, that on ac- 
count of the good terms in which I lived with politicians whom I 
knew on both sides, he gave me the name of " Atticus," of which, 
however undeserving, I am proud as the flattering designation of a 
friend. It is certain that while I was kindly received by some dis- 
tinguished members of the Pitt party, I was upon the most intimate 
footing with Sheridan, Richardson, and their political associates. 

Dr. Monsey and the celebrated Mrs. Montague lived long in inti- 
mate friendship, and kept up a sort of ludicrous gallantry with each 
other. I remember I once had the pleasure of meeting her at Dr. 
Monsey's, and of handing her to her carriage. I said, as we went 
down stairs, "Are you not afraid, madam, of being known to visit a 
gentleman in his chambers V " Why, yes," said she, " considering 
my youth and beauty, and the youth of the gallant. I hope the 
meeting will not get into The Morning Post." 

The published letters of this lady are admirable, and her Essay on 
Shakspeare is a valuable vindication of our great bard from the 
strictures of Voltaire. It was supposed that at an early period of 
her life she had been attached to the venerable Lord Lyttelton, be- 
yond the limits of platonism ; but Monsey, who would not credit 
any imputation upon her moral character, said that, if such a suppo- 
sition could possibly have any foundation, it rather applied to Lord 
Bath, with whom and his lady she made a tour in Germany. There 
"was something remarkably shrewd and penetrating in her eyes, tend- 
ing to disconcert those towards whom they were particularly di- 
rected. Dr. Monsey gave me two of her letters, of which 1 per- 
mitted copies to be taken for a periodical literary vehicle, no longer 
in existence, and which I may introduce in the present work. 

Mrs. Montague, in the early part of her life, was so fond of ha,ving 
various colours in her attire, that Lord Chesterfield always called her 
Iris. Her letters are throughout excellent, and I understand were 
written without any hesitation. In the " Dialogues of the Dead," 
written by Lord Lyttelton, there are two written by Mrs. Montague, 
which, in all respects, are much superior to those of his lordship. 
The unfavourable manner in which Dr. Johnson mentions Lord Lyt- 
telton, in his " Lives of the Poets," induced her to relinquish all in- 
tercourse with him. She was indebted for some part of her educa- 
tion to the celebrated Dr. Conyers Middleton, and it is said, that 
«uch was the precocity of her powers, that she had copied the whole 
of " The Spectator" before she was eight years of age ; but whatever 
might have, been the maturity of her mind at that early age, it is 
liardly possible to give credit to the report. 

Mentioning Yoltaire, I may as well relate in this place a circum- 



tSS KKCOJBDS OF MY UFB. 

stance communicated to me by Mousey, upon what he deemed good 
authority, that Voltaire being invited to dine with a lady of quality while 
he was in London, to meetsome persons of distinction, waited upon the 
lady an hour or two earlier than the time appointed. The lady 
apologized for the necessity of leaving him, as she had visits to pay, 
but begged he would amuse himself with the books in the room, 
promising to return very soon. After the party broke up, having oc- 
casion to refer to her escritoir, she evidently found that it had been 
opened in her absence, and though nothing had been taken away, her 
papers were obviously not in the same order as when she left them. 
She inquired anxiously who had been in the room, and was assured 
nobody but Voltaire, who had remained there till she returned home. 
As Voltaire was destitute of all religious principles, it is not wonderfiil 
that he was equally devoid of all moral delicacy. A severe account 
of his conduct towards the great king of Prussia, while he was at the 
court of tha't monarch, is given in " The Reverie," a work before re- 
ferred to. 

Voltaire once dined in company with Pope, Lord Bolingbroke, and 
several of the most distinguished characters in London, and said it 
was " the proudest day he had ever enjoyed." 

Conyers Middleton, whose learning and talents it would be pre- 
sumptuous in me to praise, had a high opinion of the mental powers 
of old Chubb, who was in the humble condition of a tallow-chandler, 
at Salisbury, and says in one of his letters, " I mean soon to spend a 
philosophical day with Chubb at Salisbury." Chubb was a very 
shrewd and well-informed man, though unacquainted with classical 
literature. He published many tracts on religious subjects. He was 
a pious Unitarian, and in one of his works whimsically, but profanely, 
terms the Trinity, " A Triangular Deity." I once dined with an in- 
telligent lady, a native and constant resident of Salisbury, who de- 
clared that she had never heard of Chubb's name till I mentioned it, 
and then professed an earnest desire to read the works of her old 
countryman. 

Dr. Monsey, I regret to say, was equally free in his opinions of the 
doctrine of the Trinity, and once riding with a bishop in Hyde-Park, 
the latter declined noticing a person who bowed to him, telling the 
doctor his reason — that the person who had passed believed only in 
** One God." " Why," said Monsey, " I know many fools who be- 
lieve there are three." The bishop immediately galloped off, 
thinking the devil was beside him. But whatever might be the 
opinions of the doctor on religious subjects, it is certain that he admit- 
ted the existence of a Divine Agent, though his language was some- 
times whimsical on this subject. 



MR. BUOH KEJJLY. 



CHAPTER VIII, 

Mr. HtJGH Kelly. This gentleman was one of my father's friends,. 
whom I knew in early life. He took notice of me in my youth, and 
allowed me the use of his library. He lived then in Knightrider- 
street, Doctors Commons, in a house that belonged to his friend and 
patron, Sir Robert Ladbroke. 

Mr. Kelly's history is rather curious. The earliest accounts of him 
represent him a pot-boy at a public-house in Dublin. This house 
was frequented by the inferior actors. In this humble situation he 
displayed literary talents, and having gained access to one of the 
newspapers, he contrived to obtain orders for admission into the 
theatre from those inferior actors, by paying frequent tributes to their 
merit in a public print. Struck with his talents, he was rescued 
from this degrading situation, and bound apprentice to a staymaker^ 
with whom he served his time v/ith diligence and fidelity. As soon^ 
however, as he was released from his indentures, having increased 
his literary reputation during his apprenticeship, and feeling an ambi- 
tion above the station of a staymaker, he determined to try his for- 
tune in London, and soon procured a connexion among the publishers 
of magazines and daily papers. At length he was appointed editor 
of " The Public Ledger," a prominent journal at that period, and he 
became well known as a political writer in favour of government. 
A pension of two hundred pounds a year was allowed him by the 
minister of that period, which he retained till his death, as he had 
been the victim of popular fury in his character of a dramatic author ;: 
and his widow was permitted to enjoy a moiety of this pension till 
her death, which happened in 1826. Mr. Kelly died in 1777. 

Reflecting on the uncertainty of permanent support arising fronj 
magazines and newspapers, Mr. Kelly had turned his attention to the 
law, and was in due time called to the bar. Having a retentive 
memory, and a promptitude of expression, he soon began to rise in 
reputation as a lawyer, and would probably have acquired a respect- 
able independence if he had lived, but he died in his thirty-eightk 
year, of an abscess in his side. 

It seemed to be Mr. Kelly's aim, both in conversation and in hi© 
writings, to use fine words, apparently, if possible, to obliterate all 
traces of the meanness of his origin, and of his early employments. 
Soon after he was called to the bar he turned his attention to the 
drama, and produced his comedy entitled " False Delicacy," which^, 
from the novelty of its characters and the refinement of its senti- 
ments, but particularly from the admirable manner in which it was 
represented, made a very favourable impression on the public. He 
had, however, one great difficulty to encounter before the manager^. 
Mr, Garrick, could venture to bring the play forward, 

D^2 



64 RECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

Mr. Kelly had written a poem, entitled " Thespis," in which he 
criticised the chief theatrical performers of that time, in the manner 
of Churchill's " Rosciad," but with an inferiority of talent which ad- 
mits of no comparison. This work appeared soon after Mr. Barry 
returned from Ireland, and brought with him Mrs. Dancer, whom he 
afterward married. She was an excellent actress both in tragedy 
and comedy. Her Rosalind was, in my opinion, one of the most 
perfect performances I ever attended. She happened to be very 
near-sighted, and Kelly, in his " Thespis," when mentioning Barry, 
alluding to Mrs. Dancer, said that he had " thrust his moon-eyed 
idiot on the town." There was a severity and vulgarity in this cen- 
sure quite inconsistent with the character of Mr. Kelly, and his 
strictures on other performers were not more gentle, so that it re- 
quired all the suavity of his own manners, and even all the zeal of his 
friend Mr. Garrick, to effect a reconciliation. 

As Mr. Kelly had allotted a principal character to Mrs. Dancer in 
his play, it was natural to suppose that she would revolt with indig- 
nation from a proposal to take any part in support of it. The lady, 
however, though at first repulsive and hostile, proved in the end for- 
giving and good-humoured. She supported the part assigned to her 
with admirable spirit, and also condescended to speak a long and 
humorous epilogue written by Mr. Garrick. Her admirable mimicry 
of the Scotch and Irish characters added much to the attraction and 
success of the comedy. 

In this play, to keep aloof from the familiar apellations of ordinary 
life, and perhaps to throw a farther veil over his original condition, 
two of the ladies were named Hortensia and Theodora, and the males 
are chiefly men of rank and title. In his subsequent comedy of " A 
School for Wives," when a challenge is sent from one character to 
another, it is addressed " To Craggs Belville, Esq." — Craggs having 
been the name of a gentleman formerly high in office, and esteemed 
by Pope and Addison ; and from what I recollect of Mr. Kelly, I 
have no doubt that his choice of fine names arose from the motive 
which I have assigned. 

Mr. Kelly, as I have said, was perhaps too lofty, pompous, and 
flowery in his language, but good-natured, affable, and gentlemanly in 
his deportment, even to an excess of elaborate courtesy. An unlucky 
instance of his loftiness of language occurred, as well as I can recol- 
lect, on the trial of the notorious Barrington, who had picked a lady'g 
pocket. The prosecutrix seemed to be inclined to give her evidence 
with tenderness, and the culprit might 'probably have escaped punish- 
ment, but unfortunately Mr. Kelly pressed her a little too much, and 
seemed to convert her lenity into self-defence, when he addr-essed her 
in the following words : " Pray, madam, how could you, in the im- 
mensity of the crowd, determine the identity of the man?" 

This question was wholly unintelligible to the simple woman, and 
he was obliged to reduce his question into merely " How do you 
know he was the man ?" " Because," said she, " I caught his hand 
in my pocket." 



MR. HUGH KELLY, 65 

As a dramatic writer, Mr. Kelly evidently improved in his progress. 
His last comedy, " A School for Wives," is much more effective in 
humour, and more pathetic in interest, than his " False Delicacy," 
and his " Word to the Wise." The last piece fell a victim to party 
prejudice. To this last w^ork he wrote a preface, which he addressed 
to Mr. Home, since Home Tooke, and it is a composition of con- 
siderable merit, liberal, just, candid. and argumentative. 

It was an adventurous undertaking for an unlearned man to attack 
Home Tooke, but Kelly had right and justice on his side, and Home 
Tooke did not attempt an answer. As party prejudice was still 
strong against Mr. Kelly, he was obliged to remain in ambush when 
his " School for Wives" was represented ; and the late Major 
Addington, afterward Sir William, and head of the Bow-street 
magistracy, attended all the rehearsals at the theatre, appeared in the 
character of the author, and when the play was successful , came pub- 
licly forward and gave the credit to Mr. Kelly. 

I remember, when I called on Mr. Kelly at his house in Gough 
Square to congratulate him on the success of his play, and found 
Mrs. Kelly alone, she said, exultingly, " Yes, we have stolen a march 
upon the patriots." 

Mr. Kelly had the privilege of writing orders for Co vent Garden 
theatre by the kindness of the late Mr. Harris : which was the more 
kind as none of Mr. Kelly's plays were originally produced, or I be- 
lieve ever represented, at that theatre. Mr. Kelly often favoured me 
with orders, by which means I had frequent opportunities of attend- 
ing dramatic performances, and imbibed a great partiality for the 
stage. 

Before I take leave of my father's old friend, and I may add 
my own indulgent patron, I will state one fact which Mr. Kelly men- 
tioned to my father. Lord Baltimore, as is well known, was tried 
for having kept in his house, as was supposed for seduction, a Miss 
Woodcock, the daughter of a tradesman in the city of London. As 
the public prints were full of the story, which made a great noise in 
the metropolis. Lord Baltimore wrote to Mr. Kelly, desiring that he 
would call on him. Mr. Kelly accordingly waited immediately upon 
his lordship, who consulted him on the propriety of publishing some 
answer to the numerous attacks which were made on him through the 
public press, proposing that Mr. Kelly should take up his cause and 
publish something in his favour. After entering into his lordship's 
feelings, Mr. Kelly advised him to wait the issue of the trial, and 
then, if public prejudice remained still strong against him, whatever 
the decision might be, there would be time enough to bring forward 
a defence or vindication. His lordship heard him with great atten- 
tion, arid apologizing for retiring a few moments, returned to the 
room, thanked Mr. Kelly for his candid, judicious, and disinterested 
advice, and attended him himself to the street door. When Mr. 
Kelly reached home, he found a very polite letter from Lord Balti- 
more, written during the few moments that he had been absent from 



^ EEeORDS or MY LIFE. 

ihe room, and despatched immediately, containing a bank-note for 
one hundred pounds. This delicate act of generosity was character- 
istic of his lordship. 

On the death of Mr. Kelly, I was sent by my father with his sub- 
scription to the widow for the publication of her husband's works. 
After some years, she married a Captain Davis, who never could 
bear to hear that her first husband had been a staymaker, though his 
own talents and attainments would admit of no comparison with 
those of her former husband. 

To my surprise, after more than forty years' separation, Mrs. Kelly 
called on me at the Sun office, in the Strand, and invited me to dine 
with her, and talk over old stories. In my early acquaintance I was 
unable to appreciate her talents, but on the renewal I found her a 
very pleasant and intelligent old lady, her mental powers unimpaired, 
and full of anecdotes of Dr. Johnson, Goldsmith, Garrick, and the 
chief literary characters of her day. 

Mr. Kelly had two sons, both of whom died in the East Indies, of 
whom one had settled a comfortable income on his mother. He had 
married, and left a daughter, who had also married, and returned 
with her husband to England. She told me that she was not on 
good terms with them, as she thought they had treated her ill, and 
she added that they should not derive any advantage from her death. 
A few days before that event, she sent for me, but I happened un- 
luckily to be out of town, otherwise perhaps I should have had some 
token of old friendship. She was about eighty-eight years of age. 

The late Sir Henry Bate Dudley, Bart. I had the pleasure of 
being acquainted with this gentleman during at least forty years, and 
had, therefore, a good opportunity of forming a due estimate of his 
character. He was constituted, both in mind and body, for the army 
or navy, rather than for the church. In either of these provinces of 
national defence he would have been distinguished for the intrepidity 
of his spirit, as well as for the resources of a quick and inventive 
mind. He had often, in his younger days, displayed his poetical 
talents in monthly magazines, but never appeared conspicuously be- 
fore the public till he established a daily paper, under the title of 
" The Morning Post," which, though it has since passed through 
various other hands, is still a respectable public journal, and probably 
owes the continuance of its reputation to the character which it 
originally derived from his talents and enterprising spirit. 

There was a sportive severity in his writings which gave a new 
character to the public press, as the newspaper?, before " The Morn- 
ing Post" appeared, generally were dull, heavy, and insipid. It ma)?" 
be said that he was too personal in his strictures in general, and in 
his allusions to many characters of his time ; but it may be said also, 
that they were generally characters of either sex, who had rendered 
themselves conspicuous for folly, vice, or some prominent absurdity, 
by which they became proper objects for satirical animadversion. 
Such effusions of his pen brought him into hostile collision with some 



SIR HENRY BATE DITDLIY. WT 

of the persons whom he censured, but he always manfully supported 
his character, and was wholly incapable of degrading concession or 
compromising artifice.* If his pen was generally and chiefly severe, 

* Among the unlucky hostile contests in which Sir Henry was engaged, was that 
with my old friend Joe Richardson, which I sincerely believe he was desirous to 
avoid. The origin of the unhappy dispute was as follows. Sir Henry, then the 
Reverend Henry Bate, was thwarted by the other proprietors of " The Morning; 
Fost," at a general meeting, among whom were the well-known Dr. Trusler and. 
Alderman Skinner. There were other proprietors of inferior talents, none of whom 
were competent to decide, upon the measures which Mr. Bate recommended, as 
necessary to promote the prosperity of the paper, except Mr. Richardson, who had 
remained siiesit. Irritated by their opposition, .Mr. Bate called them a parcel oF 
cowards, and withdrew. After he was gone, Mr. Skinner said, " If I had not a 
wife and family, I should call him to account for the stigma which he applied to us.'* 
No other person spoke on the subject. Reflecting upon it, and on what Mr. Skinner 
had said, Richardson thought it incumbent on him to demand from Mr. Bate aa 
exception from the imputation of cowardice which he had thrown upon the pro- 
prietors. I dined with Richardson at the Rainbow coffee-house next day, for thei 
purpose of his addressing a letter to Mr. Bate, requiring that exception. Richard- 
son's letter v/as, perhaps, somewhat too lofty for the temper of such a man as Mr. 
Bate, and the answer was not conciliatory. Another letter was written by Richard- 
son, but in such softened terms as to draw a more pacific answer from Mr. Bate. I 
believe a third letter followed, with no better effect; and the conclusion was, that 
the parties were to meet the following morning at five o'clock in Hyde-Park. I was 
the bearer of all Mr. Richardson's letters to Mr. Bate, who then lived in Surrey- 
street, Strand. My anxiety for the welfare of Mr, Richardson prevented my going; 
to bed, and I waited in the park the result of the meeting. A coin was tossed for 
the first fire, which fell to Mr. Bate, who wounded his antagonist in the right arm, 
and rendered him unable to return the fire. Mr. Bate then, as I understood, came 
forward, and said that if Mr. Richardson's letter had been written in a less com- 
manding" style, this event would not have happened, and that he had no hesitation 
t-hen in saying, that he would otherwise most willingly have exempted Mr. Richard- 
son from any such imputation as he had applied to the other proprietors, holding 
bim in respect and esteem. Thus the matter ended, and Mr. Bate and Mr. Richard- 
son afterward were always on the most friendly terms. Mr. Dennis O'Brien was^ 
tile second to Mr. Bate, and Mr. Mills, a surgeon, the friend of Mr. Richardson, hisr 
second. As soon as Mr. Richardson reached home, and Mr. Mills had examined his? 
arm, he showed how well he could unite the pleasure of friendship with the profits: 
of his profession, for he said, " Oh 1 Joey, don't be alarmed ; this is only a five 
guinea job !'' 

Mr. Bate related to me a circumstance that well illustrates the character of an. 
Irish duellist, which ought to be carefully distinguished from that of an Irish gen- 
tleman. He said that once being apprehensive that a dispute between him and 
another gentleman would terminate in a mortal contest, and being unprovided with 
arms, he asked a Mr. Brereton, with whom he had long been acquainted, to lend 
him a brace of pistols. Mr. Brereton seemed delighted with the request, as if it was 
a great favour conferred upon him, and brought the weapons, of which he spoke 
with high commendation, as if admirably constructed for the purpose. It happened 
that the adverse party made a satisfactory explanation to Sir Henry, and he returned 
the pistols, stating that he had fortunately no occasion to »ise them. Mr. Brereton 
expressed much discontent that his pistols should have been borrowed for nothing, 
and then observed that Sir Henrj' had some time before uttered some words that had. 
offended him, and that he had often determined to demand an explanation. Sir Henry 
assured him that he never could intend to offend him, and had no recollection of 
■having said any thing that could possibly displease him. This courteous assurance, 
however, by no. means appeased Brereton, who seemed to be rising into violent 
emotion. " Oh '. I perceive what you are at," said Sir Henry : " There, I'll take 
this pistol and you take the other, and we will settle the matter immediately." 
Finding Sir Henry so resolute, Brereton said, " Ah I I see you are a man of spirit, 
and as you are an old friend, let us shake hands, and the matter is over." 

>Some years after, Brereton, in a tavern in Dublin, waited at the bottom of thcs 



€p RECORDiS OF MY LIFE. 

much is to be ascribed to that knowledge of human nature which; 
the conduct of a public journal is sure to afford, a species and an ex- 
tent of knowledge which is by no means calculated to operate in 
favour of mankind. 

It is impossible for those who have not been occupied in such a 
situation, or who have not been familiar with the scene of action, to- 
have any just conception of the depravity, folly, and offensive quali- 
ties which it tends to develope. We may, therefore, fairly infer, that 
Sir Henry saw so much of the vice and vanity of the world as to 
excite something of a misanthropic feeling, which gave vigour, spirit,, 
and severity to his pen. 

In private life he was social, good-humoured, intelligent, and hos- 
pitable. He particularly excelled in relating anecdotes, in which the 
substance was always prominent, and the result pointed. He was 
the friend of merit in whatever province it might appear, and he 
justly prided himself on having first introduced to public notice the 
musical talents of the late Mr. Shield, a man whose original and 
powerful genius as a composer was even excelled by the benevolent 
and moral character of his mind. 

Sir Henry possessed dramatic and poetical powers, which were 
successfully exercised upon many occasions. He was a profound 
judge of theatrical merit, and hence his admiration of Garrick was 
heightened into a cordial friendship between him and thsit unrivalled 
actor, of whose character, as well as genius, he always spoke in the 
i;varmest terms of friendship and esteem. 

It is my sincere opinion, from a full consideration of the character 
of Sir Henry Bate Dudley, that the spirit, acuteness, and vigour 
"which animated his pen as a public censor, would have rendered him 
conspicuous for heroism, judgment, zeal, and enterprise, in the mili- 
tary or naval service, at once honourable to himself, and glorious to 
his country. As a magistrate, he was distinguished for knowledgCj. 
decision, firmness, activity, and spirit. He was, indeed, so eminently 
beneficial within his sphere of action, as to stand forth as an example^ 
lo all who may be invested. with such judicial authority. 



CHAPTER IX. 

Dr. Oliver Goldsmith. This pleasing, if not great poet and 
admirable prose writer, I never knew. He may be said to have 
died before my time, but not before I had begun to turn my attention 
towards literary pursuits. I once volunteered the delivery of a letter 

stairs, with his hanger, ready to attack a person whom he expected to descend,^ 
The other, however, was prepared, and attacked Brereton first with a drawn 
hanger, and gave him so many wounds that he died on the spot. Sueh was the 
fate of that desperate man, who had determined to make a victim of his more wary 
opponent. 



DK. GOLDSMITH. 69 

to him in the Temple, from a friend of my father, in order to have a 
chance of seeing his person ; but he either M^as not at home, or 
thought it prudent to deny himself even to a boy, as his circumstances 
were probably quite poetical. My old friend Mr. Cooke, the bar- 
rister, who brought letters to him from Cork, in the year 1766, used 
to speak of his beneyolence and simphcity in the highest terms. 

Goldsmith's life and character are so well known to the world, 
that it would be wasting time to enter on particulars. I shall there- 
fore content myself with relating one anecdote, as it marks his 
character, and has not been printed. Mr. Cooke had engaged to 
meet a party at Marylebone Gardens. He had cash enough to pay 
for admission, but not for the necessity of coach-hire and the 
casualty of a supper. He therefore applied to his friend Goldsmith 
for the loan of a guinea. Poor Goldsmith was in the same P«r- 
nassian predicament, but undertook to borrow the sum of a friend, 
and to bring it to Cooke before he departed for the gardens. Cooke 
waited in expectation to the last moment that allowed him a chance 
of witnessing the entertainments of the place, but no Goldsmith 
appeared. He therefore trusted to fortune, and sallied forth. 
Meeting some hospitable Irish countrymen at the place, he partook 
of a good supper, and did not return to his chambers till five in the 
morning. Finding some difficulty in opening his door, he stooped to 
remove the impediment, and found it was the guinea that Goldsmith 
had borrowed for him, wrapped in paper, which he had attempted 
to thrust under the door, not observing the hole in the letter-box, 
obvious to everybody else. Cooke thanked him in the course of 
th2 day, but observed that he ought not to have exposed the sum to 
such danger in so critical a state of their finances, as the laundress, 
coming early in the morning, or any casual stranger, might have 
seized the precious deposite. At what time Goldsmith had left the 
money he could not recollect ; but he might naturally have thought 
that he brought it too late, as Cooke had left the chambers. In 
answer to Cooke's observation as to the danger of losing the guinea, 
he said, " In truth, my dear fellow, I did not think of that." The 
fact is, he probably thought of nothing but serving a friend. 

Goldsmith, in the midst of all his luxuriant playfulness, was easily 
put out of countenance. The Miss Clara Brooke, whom I have 
mentioned before as one of my earliest and dearest playmates, who 
lived some time in my father's family, being once annoyed at a 
masquerade by the noisy gayety of Goldsmith, who laughed heartily 
at some of the jokes with which he assailed her, was induced in 
answer to repeat his own line in " The Deserted Village," 

" And the loud laugli which spoke the vacant mind." 

Goldsmith was quite abashed at the application, and retired, as if by 
the word vacant he rather meant barren than free from care. Dr. 
Johnson wTote the prologue to Goldsmith's comedy of " The Good- 
natured Man," to which comedy the pubhc have never done jusliee, 

P3 



'CO RECORDS OF M¥ LIFE. 

In the copy of this prologue, which appeared in the Public Advertiser, 
in 1769, the following couplet was inserted, — 

Amid the toils of this returning year, 
When senators and nobles learn to fear ; 

but it was omitted in the copy which accompanied the play, either 
from Goldsmith's or Johnson's caution, but probably the former. 
Johnson, mentioning the author in the prologue, had styled him " our 
little bard," but the pride of Goldsmith revolted at this epithet, and 
it was changed to *' anxious." 

I mentioned these alterations to Mr. Malone, who regretted that 
he had not known of them before, as he might ha> e ihtroduced them 
into a new edition of " Boswell's Life of Johnson," to illustrate Gold- 
smith's character. By the way, just as the first quarto -edition of 
that most amusing biography was on the eve of publication, I met 
the elder James Boswell, the biographer, who took the title-page out 
of his pocket, and asked me what 1 thought of it. It began, " The 
Life of Samuel Johnson, LL.D. containing," &c. I objected to the 
word containing, as more appropriate to an advertisement for a lost 
trunk, as ^^ containing" «fcc. He asked me what word I would 
substitute. I proposed " comprehending." — " Stay," said he, seeing- 
Sir Archibald Macdonald at a little distance, to whom he ran with 
the paper in his hand, and pointing to me, consulted Sir Archibald 
on the proposed alteration. He then returned to me, and said, " Yoti 
are right, the word shall be adopted." On the publication of the 
work, he sent the two volumes to me. It was an unfailing joke with 
me afterward, when I met him, to ask him when we should bring out 
another edition of our immortal work ; and his son, my excellent 
friend James Boswell, relished the same jocular allusion to himself as 
editor of the work. 

John Wilkes. I knew Mr. Wilkes, but was too young at the 
time to be admitted into any intimacy with him, even if I had then 
felt any turn for politics. I however saw enough of him to be con- 
vinced that he was irritable and passionate. I was better lacquainted 
with his brother, Heaton Wilkes, a very good kind of man, but by no 
means calculated to take any conspicuous part in public life, though, 
his brother once thought that he should be able to procure for him 
the chamberlainship of the city, a situation which he afterward was 
glad to obtain for himself. 

Soon after the death of John Wilkes, Heaton told me that he had 
not long before asked him for the loan of twenty pounds, but was 
refused, though at that time John occupied a house in Grosvenor- 
square, and maintained an establishment corresponding with the 
situation. He added, that his brother had left all his property to his 
daughter, and that if she died and made no provision for him, he 
should be in a destitute situation. Yet John Wilkes was a friend to 
the people, though he forgot to include his brother among them. 

John Wilkes had certainly written two biographical works, which 



JOHN WILKES. f I 

he intended for publication after his death. One of them was an 
account of his private, and the other of his political life ; but his 
daughter devoted them to the flames, as if she thought there was 
nothing in the character of her father worth recording. Wilkes had 
a natural son, whom I knew. His father sent him for education to 
Germany, and he came back so completely Germanised, that he 
must have been taken through life for a foreigner. He went by the 
name of Smith, and his father procured for him a military appoint- 
ment in the service of the East India Company. He was a good 
sort of young man, inclined to boisterous mirth, but without any 
promising abilities. 

The last time I met Mr. Wilkes I inquired after Smith, who I said 
I had heard was at Seringapatam. " Yes, "said Wilkes, " he was, 
when I last heard of him, at Seringapaiam," — thus somewhat rudely 
differing from the pronunciation which I had adopted according to 
general usage. 

I was present at his last unsuccessful attempt for the representation 
of Middlesex. He was speaking softly to me about the progress of 
the poll, as we M-^ere standing on the hustings at Brentford, and 
happening to ask him if he thought he had been extensive enough in 
his canvass, he raised his voice in a most ungentlemanlike manner, 
and in very passionate tones told me that I was damping his cause. 
He however soon recovered his temper, and talked to me as before, 
but not on the subject of the pending election. It is astonishing that 
a man of his learning and taste should have indulged himself in such 
cold-blooded profligacy as he exhibited in his licentious parody of 
" The Essay on Man." It is difficult to conceive what gratification 
a mind erudite and intelligent as that of Wilkes, could derive from 
such a low and despicable amusement, particularly as all his political 
pursuits for personal advantage, and all his contentions with individuals* 
especially with Mr. Home Tooke, as well as his luxurious indulgence 
in private life, had never weaned him from literature. 

He had long meditated the pubhcation of a correct edition of 
*' Catullus," which he at length brought out, and which was generally 
admitted to evince his taste and scholarship. To show that his 
respect for learning and talents was not overborne by political 
animosity, when the work came forward, Mr. Home Tooke informed 
me that he sent a copy to him. In his public controversy with that 
sturdy adversary, he certainly appeared to most advantage. Tooke's 
letters were rancorous and dull in comparison with the lightness, 
spirit, and gayety of his competitor's. Wilkes was conscious that 
" Nature had not formed him in her prodigality," but he used to say 
that the handsomest man could only be rated at a fortnight before 
him when courting the smiles of the ladies. His wit and humour 
were admirable, and a strong proof of their influence is, that they 
could triumph over the impression of his person. Those qualities 
however cannot throw a veil over the profligacy of his life, the loose- 
ness of his morals, and the freedom of his political principles, — for hi^ 
was, unquestionably, not merely a whig, but a republican. 



?73 KEfORDS OF MY LIFE. 

The late Mr. John Palmer, member for Bath, told me that he 
passed a few days with Wilkes in the Isle of Wight. On one occa- 
sion Mr. Palmer at dinner spoke highly of some pigeons on the table^ 
as of an extraordinary size. IVilkes gave the following account of 
Ihem. " I was particularly fond of pigeons," said he, " and wanted 
to encourage a fine breed. I procured some from France and other 
places on the Continent, but, having taken all possible pains to render 
their reception agreeable, after a short time they returned to their 
native place. At length I despaired of ever possessing a breed of 
my favourite bird, when a friend advised me to try Scotland. I did 
BO, and the pigeons that you admire, of which I procured a large 
stock, have never returned to their own country." — Perhaps the 
illiberal hatred of Scotland which he entertained in common with 
Dr. Johnson, a feeling unworthy and disgraceful to both, was one of 
ibe reasons why the great moralist consented to be acquainted with 
him. 

There are many proofs of Wilkes's wit, which are too well known 
to be introduced in this place. The following, however, I believe, 
jiave not publicly appeared. A lady once asked him to take a hand 
at whist, but he declined in the following terms, " Dear lady, do not 
ask me, for I am so ignorant that I cannot distinguish the difference 
between a ki7i.g' and a knave /" Here the republican tendency of his 
feelings is manifest. 

In a dispute between Sir Watkin Lewes and himself, the former 
said, " I'll be your butt no longer." " With all my heart," said Wilkes^ 
*' X never like an empty one" 

It was generally rumoured at the time, that Wilkes wrote an answer 
to a satirical letter to Sir Watkin from Home Tooke, when Sir Wat- 
kin was sheriff. The answer concluded as- follows : " It only remains^ 
sir, for me, in my office of sheriff, to attend you to that fate which 
you have long deserved, and which the people have impatiently 
expected." 

Wilkes was among the persons who were suspected to be Junius^ 
but though witty, pleasant, and humorous, he never could soar to the 
dignified height of the great inscrutable censor of the times, who threw 
iirebrands among all ranks without distinction or remorse. Upon 
another occasion he displayed his sarcastic humour on royalty, for he 
jsaid " he loved the king (George the Third) so much, that he hoped 
never to see another." 

Upon having a snuff-box presented to him to take a pinch, he said^ 
-"No, sir, I thank you, I have no small vices." 

One evening, when the House of Commons was going to adjourn, 
lie begged permission to make a speech, '' for," said he, *' I have sent 
a copy to the ' Public Advertiser,' and how ridiculous should I appear 
if it were published without having been delivered." 

When he was member for Aylesbury, he invited the mayor t€^ 
Tisit him in London, promising him a hospitable reception. The 
mayor, who had never been in the metropolis, declined the invitation, 
alleging that he had heard London " contained nothing but rogues 



JOHN WILKES — THE EARL OP CHATHAM. 7^ 

and prostitutes." Wilkes, with a confidential air, said, " Why,''to tell 
you the truth, Mr. Mayor, I have reason to believe that there are in 
London a few suspected characters." 

The last time I met Wilkes was in Holborfi, when I resided in 
Hatton Garden, the scene of my infant days, and of all my youthful 
enjoyments. I expressed my surprise at seeing him in that street, as 
his usual course home to Knightsbridge or to Grosvenor-square, was 
through Cheapside and the Strand, and I asked him if he had been 
at his old friend Home Tooke's trial, which was then proceeding. 
His answer, from the loss of teeth, was not intelligible ; and making 
a motion as if I was prevented from hearing, by the noise of passing 
carriages, he repeated the same sounds, which, receiving as if I un- 
derstood him, I found on reflection were, " Forbid it, delicacy." 

Wilkes was certainly a brave, learned, and witty man, but his 
patriotism was a mere trade for power and profit. My friend Joe 
Richardson used ludicrously to say, that he had " an affectionate con^ 
tempt for Wilkes." I was quite a boy when Wilkes was imprisoned 
in the King's Bench, and was on the ground of St. George's Fields 
when young Allen was shot, little thinking that I should live to be 
acquainted with the favourite of the mob. 

The mob collected in vast numbers every day before his window 
in the King's Bench, and th@ loudest acclamations arose whenever he 
appeared before them. There was certainly nothing respectable in 
Wilkes but his de^^rmined spirit, his talents, and his erudition. He 
■was said to be elegant in his manners, but in reality he was irritable 
in his temper, and, at times, rude in his behaviour. " 



CHAPTER X. 

The Earl of Chatham. I once, and only once, saw this noble 
statesman, happening to be present in the House of Lords when he 
appeared there for the last time. Earl Temple came first, and a 
whisper quickly spread among the people before the bar, importing 
that "as the jackal was come, the lion might soon be expected." 
The venerable Earl of Chatham arrived soon after. He was dressed 
in a suit of black, which by no means appeared to be new. There 
was nothing remarkably dignified in his form altogether, but, old as 
he appeared, there was a grandeur in his features, though they evi- 
dently indicated the languor of sickness. He arose feebly, and his 
speech at first was weak, but became stronger as he proceeded. The 
subject was our war with America. Young as I was, I was struck 
foy the force of his language and the variety of his expressions. He 
said, " Have we resisted Gallic invasions, Scottish irruptions, British 
insurrections, Danish intrusions, Irish rebellions," and mentioned other 
attacks upon this country, varying his epithets on every similar occa~ 



74 aEdOKDS OP MY LIFE. 

sion. I accompanied my friend Mr. Richardson at this tinie, and we 
both agreed as to the several terms which he had adopted. 

When he had closed his speech, apparently more from fatigue than 
from hdving fully expressed his sentiments, the Duke of Richmond 
rose and answered him with great violence, partly resulting from the 
warmth of his feelings, and partly, as it seemed to me, from vexation 
that, for want of oratorical fertility, he was frequently obliged to pause. 
Ke looked at Lord Chatham all the time, and directed all he said 
particularly to his lordship. The earl, in animadverting on the pro- 
posal of acknowledging the independence of our American colonies, 
had exclaimed emphatically, " Shall we disinherit the Prince of Wales 
of his hereditary dominions?" This question seemed chiefly to agitate 
the irritable temper of the Duke of Richmond, who answered with 
great vehemence, and in the whole of his manner failed to treat the 
earl with that respect which was due to him for his vast abilities, his 
eminent services, his high and venerable character, and his advanced 
time of life. 

During the whole of the Duke of Richmond's intemperate, hesi- 
tating, and confused harangue, the Earl of Chatham occasionally, 
nodded, not, as I presumed to think at the time, and as I still conceive 
to have been the case, as if he assented to any thing that had been 
advanced by the duke, but only in reference to points that he intended 
to ansv^^er. Before, however, the duke had ended his violent philippic, 
the Earl of Chatham fell back, but was immediately^upported by the 
peers who were near him. 

If I may venture to express my own impression of the scene, I 
should say what, even at this distance of time, I still think, that the 
indignation of the Earl of Chatham at being assailed in so coarse, 
vehement, and vulgar a style, by a person so much beneath him in 
talents, knowledge, experience, and wisdom, operating upon the known 
irritability of the noble lord's temper, probably increased by age, 
actually choked him with passion, to which the feebleness of his frame, 
debilitated also by sickness, gave way. This opinion I communicated 
to Mr. Richardson, who assured me that he had drawn the same 
inference. 

The attack on the illustrious statesman, even as the scene passed 
before me, reminded me of the fable which represents the insult 
offered to the dying lion. I do not presume to question the abilities 
of the Duke of Richmond, or his public spirit, but he had connected 
himself much with a certain democratical party at that period, with- 
out, perhaps, being sufficiently aware that they did not act upon the 
pure old whig principles, which really aimed at the preservation of 
the British constitution without intending to lessen the proper rights 
and dignity of the throne, but were attempting to establish a republic, 
of which they expected to become the leaders : though, happily, the 
example of revolutionary France and the good sense of the country 
restrained them, or the Duke of Richmond might have found to his 
cost that he would have sunk with the aristocraticai branch of our 
unrivalled constitution. ^ 



THE ABBE SECHAKD. 75 

As the scene which I have endeavoured to record maybe thought 
to have some historical interest attached to it, I will add a few words 
on the subject. Many years after this interesting event took place, I 
was surprised, on seeing the late Mr. Copley's fine picture of the 
death of the Earl of Chatham, at the accuracy of the representation; 
and unless the artist had been present, I cannot account for the truth 
of the arrangement, as it is hardly to be conceived that even he, not 
being aware of what was likely to be the result, would have viewed 
the whole with any future consideration of picturesque effect. One 
circumstance which particularly struck me in the picture was, the 
position of Lord Mansfield, leaning on the table and looking with 
apparent indifference on the fainting statesman, while all the rest of 
the members were crowding towards him with evident eagerness and 
solicitude. I could not help recollecting at the time the hostility 
which had long existed between the two noble statesmen, and I even 
presumed to conceive that Lord Mansfield did not view with regret 
the probable end of his powerful, and, indeed, irresistible competitor. 
It is not improper to remark, that the. picture is erroneous in one 
respect, as the peers never debate in their parliamentary robes ; but 
the taste of the artist naturally tended to the picturesque, and, cer- 
tainly, the scene as he has represented it, appears with more sena- 
torial dignity. 

Soon after the French revolution broke out, I became acquainted 
with a French ecclesiastic, named the Abbe Sechard, who seemed to 
be deeply interested in that melancholy event, and apprized of all the 
designs of its leaders. He predicted to me all the successes of the 
revolutionary armies in France, Italy, and other parts of the European 
continent. All his predictions were rapidly fulfilled. Happening to 
be favoured with the attention of a gentleman high in office at that 
time, I thought it my duty to inform him of what the abbe had said 
to me, not in confidence, but apparently with a triumphant anticipa- 
tion of the revolutionary achievements. I ventured to suggest, not as 
a politician, but as an alarmist, to use my old friend Sheridan's word, 
that in_ the present state of things, when the lower orders of people 
seemed likely to be ensnared by the revolutionary doctrines, and in- 
cited by democratical orators to similar measures, it would be wise on 
the part of government to grant annuities upon liberal terms, in order 
to render the measure desirable to the people at large, and thereby 
create a strong and extensive interest in support of the British con- 
stitution and government. I took the liberty of remarking, that, as it 
was a question of security rather than of revenue, the conditions 
ought to be liberal, even should government derive no advantage 
from the measure, or even though it should be attended with some 
expense. 

Such a measure was afterward adopted, but it would be ridiculous 
in me to suppose that my humble suggestion had any weight in pro- 
ducing it, particularly as it was founded upon a principle which never 
occurred to me, viz. that of receiving only funded stock in the pur- 
chase of these government annuities, thereby gradually to diminish 



76 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

the national debt. The measure answered its purpose till the proba- 
bility of danger was removed, and the precaution no longer required ► 

The gentleman to whom I made those communications, and to 
•whom I presumed to offer those suggestions, is no longer in office, but 
is advanced in rank, and can attest the correctness of my present 
statement. The Abbe Sechard positively declared that, to his certain 
knowledge, the last King of France, when Monsieur, had lavished 
upwards of one hundred thousand pounds upon a favourite mistress, 
and that his general expenses before the revolution' had been marked 
by similar profusion. 

The abbe attended the Duchess of Kingston, on her visit to the 
Empress of Russia, as a sort of chaplain, — a strange office, as the 
duchess was never understood to be a Roman Catholic ; but from 
the general tenor of her life, it may be reasonably supposed, that her 
sense of religion was much upon a par with her regard for decency^ 
as it is well known that she once appeared in a masquerade at Rane- 
lagh, in the character of Iphigenia, almost without the vulgar incum- 
brance of attire. 

What became of the abbe I never heard. He was a very intelli- 
gent man, had seen much of the world, was full of anecdotes, very 
fond of music, and accompanied himself tolerably on the piano-forte. 
He appeared to be about seventy years of age, buf manifested all the 
ardour of youth when the French revolution became the subject of 
conversation, and expressed his admiration of its principles with ve- 
hemence and the most unguarded freedom. What he said of the ex- 
travagance of the late King of France, though he asserted it with ap- 
parent sincerity and confidence, was probably much exaggerated ; yet 
it is certain that the pride, arrogance, and dissipation of too many of" 
the French noblesse, in a great degree precipitated the revolution. 
The privileged orders of society in all countries too frequently treat 
the general community as inferior beings. The natural consequence 
is, that some men of high intellectual power arise among the com- 
monalty, men who do not, as Dryden expresses it, see nature 
" through the spectacle of books," but penetrate into the .substance 
of things, and propagate principles calculated to give a new foundation 
to society. Such men will be found in all statesj and unless the higher 
orders manifest less arrogance, no country can be secure from revo- 
lutionary movements. The free intercourse, however, that prevails 
in the British empire, between the several gradations of rank, imparts 
a stability to the British government which is not to be found in any^ 
other. 

About this time, I became acquainted with the late Lady Wallace^. 
sister of the late Duchess of Gordon. She was a woman of a 
strong mind, and much disposed to play the part of a politician. I 
remember sitting with her one night in the pit of the King's Theatre, 
"when she indulged herself in commenting on the revolutionary prin- 
ciples of France, which then seemed to be rapidly spreading over this 
country. By what I could gather from her discourse, she seemed to 
think that Mr. Fox and his party supposed those principles would 



MR. FOX AND THE WHIGS. 77 

soon produce, the same effects here, and that they were preparing 
for the event, in expectation that they would be able to maintain the 
same ascendency over the people in general, when the British mon- 
archy should be destroyed, as they held over their immediate political 
adherents. With a sound knowledge of the real tendency of those 
principles, she observed that Mr. Fox was but a shallow politician if 
he expected to be one of the rulers of the people when the throne 
should be overturned, "The probability is," said she, "that while 
Mr. Fox harangued the mob, for we must not insult the people in 
general by supposing that his audience would be otherwise than .the 
mob, s5me sergeant of the army would knock him on the head in the 
midst of his sputtering elocution." 

If I were to give full credit to what Lady Wallace said, I should 
conclude that she was in the secret of the party, and that they wished,, 
and even endeavoured to promote, the events for which they were 
making preparation. 

That Mr. Burke was evidently of this opinion, his quarrel v«rith Mr. 
Fox, and subsequent attack upon him, fully demonstrate. Mr. Burke 
accused him of having sent an ambassador from the party to the 
court of Russia, to contravene the measures of his own government ; 
and this was a fact which could not be denied. But Mr. Burke did 
no credit to himself by his condemnation of the measure in questioup 
since at the time it was adopted, he must have been aware of it, and 
have sanctioned it with his own concurrence, for it is impossible to 
suppose that what was styled the Fox party, of which he was a lead- 
ing member, would have ventured upon so important a measure 
without his knowledge and participation. 

His attack upon the^Duke of Bedford for objecting to his pension^ 
violent as it was, might be excused on the ground of self-defence ; 
but his reference to the ancestors of his grace, and the means by 
which they acquired wealth and distinction, was illiberal and mean, 
and, after all, it would be difficult to show how it had been deserved, 

Mr. Burke had previously broken off all connexion with Mr. 
Sheridan, on account of something which the latter had said on the 
subject of the French revolution. I remember meeting Mr. Sheri- 
dan at the Haymarket Theatre during the time when it was opened 
for the reception of the Italian singers and dancers, after the destruc- 
tion of the Opera House, when a room was opened for the higher 
ranks, taken from an adjoining house, little better than a stable, and 
lined with green baize to conceal its homely aspect. 

His late majesty, when Prince of Wales, used, after the perform- 
ance, to visit this room, and, in spite of its green baize lining and gen- 
eral homeliness of aspect, was of course followed by all the rank arid 
fashion in the house. 

Meeting Mr. Sheridan in this room, and being upon friendly and 
familiar terms with him, I asked him if there was any likelihood of 
his being reconciled to Mr. Burke ; and with all his acuteness, in 
order to show how little he knew of the character of the latter, he 
told me that " matters were coming round," though, from the irritable 



78 SECORDS OP MT MPE. 

and vindictive temper of Mr. Burke, an amicable arrangement was 

impossible. 

Mr. Burke was reputed to be disposed to " melting charity," but 
the hardness of his nature was evident in his rejection of all friendly 
overtures on the part of Mr. Fox, who absolutely shed tears in the 
House of Commons, when he found that an old and apparently an 
indissoluble friendship was for ever extinguished. My late friend Mr. 
William Cooke, an old member of the English bar, who brought 
letters of introduction to Mr. Burke from Ireland in the year 1766, 
and • became intimate with him and his brother Richard, spoke of 
them both as not entitled to any moral aspect ; and the conduct of 
Mr. Burke towards Mr. Hastings has been often and strenuously im- 
puted to resentment, because the governor-general of India refused 
to give an appointment of great responsibility to a relation of Mr. 
Burke, who had been stigmatized for his profligacy at home. 

I am afraid that I shall provoke the resentment of the friends and 
admirers of Mr. Burke by what I have here written, but 1 cannot for- 
get the almost indecent exultation with which he spoke of our late 
beloved monarch during his first mental alienation, which excited the 
sympathy and grief of all ranks of the people. Mr. Burke said in the 
House of Commons, that " God had hurled him from the throne." 
This was said of a monarch who afterward recovered and rendered 
the whole British empire a scene of loyal festivity. 

Whatever might be the abstract notions of Mr. Burke on the sub- 
lime and beautiful, it is evident that he was defective in taste, for 
otherwise he would not in the House of Commons, and before the 
world at large, considering the dissemination of the debates, have in- 
dulged in the indecent allusion to " the rinsing df the bottles," and the 
vulgarity of " three skips," &;c. His merits as a politician and an 
orator cannot be disputed ; yet his reflections on the French revo- 
lution were too diff'use, and he entered into a formal and elaborate 
discussion of political theories of government, as promulgated by the 
sanguinary usurpers of France, evidently too speculative for practice, 
and only likely to obtain an ephemeral existence with the transitory 
demagogues who projected them. 

Having touched upon the character of Mr. Burke in another place, 
I shall here drop the subject, except to express my surprise that Dr. 
Johnson should have held him in such high admiration as to think it 
necessary to collect all his intellectual powers whenever he was 
likely to come in competition with him. 

Dr. Monsey told me that he placed Mr. Burke in a ludicrous situa- 
tion soon after the first publication of his work on the " Sublime and 
Beautiful." The sincerity of the doctor was acknowledged by all 
who knew him and could estimate his character, but he was a 
matter-of-fact man, and only solicitous for practical and useful truths. 
Meeting Mr. Burke, I believe at Mrs. Montague's, he said with his 
usual blunt sincerity, " Mr. Burke, I have read your work on the 
Sublime, but I don't understand it — to me it appears to be nothing 
but ' about it goddess, and about it.' — What do you mean by sub- 



THB EARL OP OtIILDFOBD. 79 

lime ? it seems to me inconsistent with nature and common sense." 
The company looked on Mr. Burke, anxious for his answer. The 
doctor said he seemed to be a Httle puzzled and embarrassed, and 
only said in answer, " There is certainly a sublime in nature, though 
I cannot at once define it." 

Upon the appointment of Mr. Burke, as paymaster, Dr. Monsey 
wrote a friendly and facetious letter to him. I saw Mr. Burke's 
answer at the time. It was elegant, playful, and friendly. It prin- 
cipally turned upon the fertility of the doctor's fancy at his advanced 
time of life, which, as well as I can recollect, v»^as beyond his nine- 
tieth year. The doctor wrote a similar letter to the celebrated 
Charles Townshend, brother of Lord Townshend, on his being ad- 
mitted into the administration, and I remember that the answer of 
ihat witty statesman was full of humour and expressions of friend- 
ship. Dr. Monsey had letters from the most distinguished characters 
of his time, which v/ould be a valuable treasure in the present age of 
autographical zeal and solicitude. 



CHAPTER XL 

FiiANCis North, Earl of Guildford. This nobleman was one of 
the most facetious, pleasant, and humorous characters I ever knew. 
When I had first the pleasure of being introduced to him, his father 
and elder brother were alive, and he was distinguished among his 
friends by the familiar designation of Frank North. In point of size 
and pleasantry, he quite realized the idea of Falstaff. He was inti- 
mately acquainted with the present General Phipps, George Colman 
the younger, John Kemble, and other conspicuous characters of the 
lime. He is the frolicsome hero of one of my friend Colman's 
sportive tales, where he is described as having roused a medical man 
at midnight, who had inscribed upon the side of his door, " Please to 
ring the bell." The story is so well kno%vn that it is only necessary 
to refer to it, and they who have not read it have a great pleasure to 
come. 

Frank North went abroad for a year or two, and on his return 
became Earl of Guildford, by the death of his elder brother. Daring 
his absence he laid a wager that he would write a dramatic piece 
within a given time. The piece was written and sent to this country, 
consigned to his friend Colman, then proprietor and manager of the 
Haymarket Theatre, and was brought out there under the title of 
" The English Baron." The wager was for a hundred pounds, which 
the author of course won. 

Soon after he became Earl of Guildford I met him, and he saluted 
me in his usual free, open, and good-humoured manner. " Before I 
answer," said I, " I must know whether I am speaking to Frank 



©0 JtECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

North or to Lord Guildford ?" — " Oh ! Frank North for ever, among- 
old friends," said he, and we renewed our intercourse, as far as the 
difference of our ranks admitted, for the remainder of his life. Be- 
fore he became an earl he held an appointment under Mr. Pitt, then 
lord warden of the cinque ports, and his duty was to be present 
at Walmer Castle, in order to receive Mr. Pitt, when the great 
statesman took possession of the place. On this occasion he took 
with him as a companion a person who acted in a subordinate situa- 
tion with the Fox party, and was chiefly employed in collecting the 
parliamentary friends of Mr. Fox when the opposition had any 
favourite measure to support in the House of Commons. This per- 
son was a man without education or intellectual powers, but had seen 
much of life, and related vulgar stories with some humour ; when he 
failed in language, he generally supplied the deficiency with winks, 
nods, and other significant gestures. 

Frank North used to describe him as the great Lord Mansfield 
described a dull companion, when a friend expressed his surprise 
that his lordship should be so intimate with so barren a visiter. 
" Why," said Lord Mansfield, " I use him as a couch to rest my 
mind upon, when I am fatigued with thinking, and disinclined to all 
farther intellectual labour." Such was the manner in which Frank 
North spoke of his companion, except that he derived amusement 
from the blunders of this humble friend, and I seldom had the pleas- 
ure of meeting him that he did not detain me a few minutes to relate 
some of those blunders. 

His manner of describing what passed at the interview when he 
officially received Mr. Pitt as lord warden, was so humorous and 
so characteristic, that I am always diverted with the recollection. 
He said that he introduced his humble friend to Mr. Pitt as Colonel 
, though he had reason to believe the statesman was well ac- 
quainted with the person and real situation of the man, from his con- 
stant attendance at the House of Commons, as an humble servant 
of the Fox party. Mr. Pitt staid to partake of a dinner which had 
been provided for him, and the pseudo-colonel was one of the party. 
Mr. North said that it was impossible for him to describe the devo- 
tion which the colonel paid to Mr. Pitt, who occasionally directed his 
attention to the colonel. The colonel then bowed, as if he were in 
the presence of some being above the race of mankind. 

Mr. North said, that whenever Mr. Pitt pronounced the word 
colonel, there was a sort of subtle sarcasm in his tone which fully in- 
dicated that he was aware of the colonel's military character ; but 
when Mr. Pitt asked the colonel to take a glass of wine with him, 
the reverence of the latter mounted to such a height that he seemed 
to be almost bereft of his senses on receiving so great an honour. 
At length Mr. Pitt left the party on his return to town. For some 
time the colonel seemed to be absorbed in meditation, as if an im- 
portant matter engrossed his whole faculties. However, after some 
hesitation and apparent difficulty to develop his feelings, he sud- 
denly exclaimed, " What extraordinary things happen in this life ! — 



JOHN KEMBLE. St 

could I ever think that I should live to shake hands with that fellow ?'* 
According to Frank North's interpretation, he was afraid that having 
dined in company with Mr. Pitt, and shown such reverence to their 
great political adversary, the story might reach the ears of his 
patrons, the Foxites, in town, and bring suspicion on his political 
rectitude and consistency. 

Such was the story as related by Frank North, with admirable 
humour, and which was too good to be concealed from the Foxites, 
who made allowance for the consternation of the colonel, and did not 
the less confide in his political sincerity. 

As might be expected, the feelings of an author arose in the mind 
of honest Frank after our mutual greetings on his arrival in town ; 
and his first question was whether 1 had attended the representation ' 
of his play. I told him the fact without any colouring, viz. that the 
characters were well cast, and well represented ; that in scenic 
decoration, it was brought forward in a manner creditable to the 
piece, and to the manager as his friend, and had been well received 
by the audience ; finally, that, considering it to be a hasty building 
upon a whimsical foundation, it manifested a power of doing some- 
thing better with time and attention. He was gratified with this 
account, which was confirmed by the testimony of other friends.* 

Honest Frank ! his death was a loss to many friends, and his 
familiar ease was no abatement to the dignity of his rank. x\s far 
as his fortune would enable him, he would have kept up all the hospi- 
table spirit of the ancient nobility ; and without aristocratical pride, 
would have held forth an example to his equals, and diffused good- 
humour around him, to the full extent of his property and influence. 
His talents, knowledge, and manners endeared him to all his friends, 
from the studiously grave John Kemble to the exuberantly vivacious 
George Colman. 

Mr. John Kemble. I became acquainted with this gentleman in 
the first season of his performance in LcTndon, at Drury-lane 
Theatre, I attended his first appearance, which was in the character 
of Hamlet. It was impossible to avoid being struck with his person 
and demeanour, though the latter was in general too stately and for- 
mal ; but, perhaps, it only appeared so to me, as I had seen Garrick 
perform the same character several times a few years before, and 
had a vivid recollection of his excellence. There was some novelty 
in Mr. Kemble's delivery of certain passages, but they appeared to 
me to be rather the refinement of critical research, than the sympa- 
thetic ardour of congenial feelings with the author. I sat on the 
third row of the pit, close to my old friend Peregrine Phillips, the 
father of Mrs. Crouch. Phillips was enthusiastic in his admiration 
and applause, upon every expression and attitude of Kemble, even 

* My late worthy friend Michael Kelly, in his pleasant Reminiscences, says, that 
©n the first night of this play he went behind the scenes, and was introduced to the 
author; but the introduction must have been on another occasion, as the author did. 
not return to England till a year or two after the representation, as 1 have above 
■.stated. 



82 KBCORDS OP MY UPE. 

to a fatiguing excess. When Kemble had dismissed one of the court 
spies sent to watch him, and kept back the other, Phillips exclaimed, 
" Oh ! fine, fine." " It may be very fine," said I, " but what does it 
mean, my friend ?" " Oh !" he answered, " I know not what it 
means, but it is fine and grand." The enthusiasm of my old friend 
may be accounted for from a report which prevailed at the time. 
Miss Phillips, his daughter, was very beautiful, and it was said that 
while Mr. Kemble was at Liverpool, imniediately preceding his 
engagement in London, it had appeared as if a marriage between 
them were approaching, and the father was, therefore, naturally 
strenuous in supporting his expected son-in-law. However, the 
match, if ever intended, did not take place, and Phillips, I suppose, 
felt an abatement of hi^ admiration of the actor, 

I knew Miss Phillips before she appeared on the stage, and a more 
beautiful and interesting girl, then about fifteen, I have never since 
known. I continued my acquaintance with her till her death, and 
whatever might be the events of her life, I had never any reason to 
alter my opinion of her intrinsic worth. She was a very pleasing 
actress, and sung with pathos and effect. Her merit in the part 
which she performed in the comedy of " The Heiress," and in my 
excellent friend Prince Hoare's humorous afterpiece, "No Song no 
Supper," was all that criticism could require. 

I was, at first, so little an admirer of John Kemble's performance 
of " Hamlet," that considering it stiff, conceited, and unnatural, I 
wrote four epigrams in ironical commendation of it, and inserted 
them together in a public print which I then conducted. The late 
Mr. Francis Twiss, who took a strong interest in the welfare of Mr. 
Kemble, introduced me to him in the lobby of Drury-lane Theatre. 
1 had just before seen him point Kemble's notice to me, and heard 
him whisper the word epigrams : I was, therefore, not prepared for 
the unaffected civility with which he addressed me. We imme- 
diately fell into convOTsation, and I remember that Mr. Kemble very 
soon began a defence of declamation,, stating it as originally consti- 
tuting one of the chief features of theatrical excellence on the 
Grecian stage ; whence, on reflection, I inferred that he thought I 
was disposed to require too much of the manners. of familiar life in 
dramatic representations. From that time we often met in company, 
became well acquainted, and, judging from myself, cur intercourse 
gradually ripened into what is commonly denominated friendship. 
1 am convinced that if he had been born to affluence, and in a higher 
station, he would have been a distinguished character in political life. 
He had sufiered the privations naturally incidental to a connexion 
•with a provincial theatre ; but when he rose to reputation and fortune 
in the metropolis, he acted with a spirit and liberality that seemed as 
if he were " to the manner born." 

The late Mr. William Lewis, himself an excellent comic actor and 
a shrewd judge of theatrical merit, told me that as he once passed 
through an obscure town in Yorkshire, to perform as " a star," he saw 
John Kemble in the part of " Loveweil," m " The Clandestine 



Joint EEMBLE. 83 

Marriage," ill-dressed for the character, with antiquated finery, un^- 
suitable to a merchant's clerk, and with black unpowdered hair ; yet,. 
notwithstanding the stiffness of his deportment, he displayed so much, 
good sense and judgment, that Mr. Lewis assured me he silently- 
predicted Mr. Kemble would rise into theatrical distinction. 

Mr. Kemble's classical and general knowledge, and the courtesy of 
his. manners, as well as his improving theatrical powers, soon pro^ 
cured him high and extensive connexions. He kept a hospitable and 
elegant table. He gave a liberal premium with one of his nephews 
to an eminent artist, and an equal sum with another to a solicitor. 
When the late Mr. Francis Twiss had compiled an index to Shak- 
speare, a work of marvellous industry and labour, and, of course, 
valuable to the admirers of the great bard, but was not willing to 
hazard the expense of publication, Mr. Kemble, with the zeal of 
friendship, and admiration of the poet, determined that so interesting 
a work should not be buried in obscurity, and engaged with the book- 
seller at his own risk. He however instituted a subscription among 
his friends at two guineas for each copy ; but though, no doubt, he 
collected a considerable sum, it was probably by no means sufficient 
to indemnify him for the expense of a publication of so very arduous 
and complicated a description. I hardly need add, that I became 
one of the earliest subscribers. A great part of this laborious work, 
which, most probably, will never be reprinted, was destroyed by an 
accidental fire, so that the remaining copies have been much ad- 
vanced in price. 

I was in the habit of constantly visiting Mr. Kemble on a Sunday 
morning for many years, and if I saw him in the intermediate days, 
he always said, " Taylor, remember the hebdomadal." I found him 
generally with some book or manuscript before him relative to his 
art. Sometimes he was cold, negligent, and less courteous than at 
others, and then feeling disgusted, I resolved to forbear my visit the 
next week, but the pleasure I always found in his company overcame 
my temporary spleen. He was fond of Dryden, and sometimes read 
to me passages from that admirable poet. I do not think he was a 
good reader, for he generally read in a tone either too low or too 
high. There is obviously but one tone in reading or acting that 
excites the sympathy of the hearer, and that is the tone which feeling 
suggests and expresses ; and such was the charm of Garrick, which 
rendered his acting in tragedy or comedy impressive in the highest 
degree.* There were many of Kemble's visiters who made court 
to him by telling him of faults in Garrick's acting, or of the unsuit- 
ableness of his person for some of the characters which he repre- 
sented ; for instance, Sir Charles Thompson, afterwards Hotham, a 
respectable old baronet, told Kemble that Garrick always gave him 
the idea of a little butler. Kemble generally told me what was said 

* Dr. Wolcot used to read his own compositions, and the comic productions of 
others, with admirable ease, humour, and spirit, but he read all grave poems with a 
kind of ludicrous quaintness and familiarity. He was, however, a sound critic on 
other readers. , j. 



04 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

to him of this kind, not as appearing to believe such remarks, but to 
know whether they received a confirmation from me. On such 
occasions, I never abated in my reverence for Garrick, but always 
discountenanced such insidious flattery, and to the best of my recol- 
lection and ability, asserted the wonderful powers of the departed 
actor. Kemble always listened to my panegyric on his great prede- 
cessor with apparent conviction, but I cannot help believing that he 
would have liked me much better if I had never seen Garrick. 

Kemble, with all his professional judgment, skill, and experience, 
like all other mortals, vt^as sometimes induced to mistake the natural 
direction of his powers, and to suppose that he was as much patron- 
ized by the comic as by the tragic muse. When I called on him 
one morning, he was sitting in his great chair with his nightcap on, 
and, as he told me, cased in flannel. Immediately after the cus- 
tomary salutation, he said, " Taylor, I am studying a new part in a 
popular comedy, and I should like to know your opinion as to the 
manner in which I am likely to perform it." " As you tell me it is 
a comic part," said I, "I presume it is what you style intellectual 
comedy, such as the chief characters in Congreve, Wycherley, and 
Vanburgh." " What do you think," said he, " of Charles, in the 
/'School for Scandal?'" "Why," said I, "Charles is a gay, free, 
spirited, convivial fellow." " Yes," said he, " but Charles is a gentle- 
man." He tried the part, but his gayety did not seem to the town to be 
of "the right flavour." It was said by one of Mr. Kemble's favourite 
critics in a public print, that his performance was "Charles's restora- 
tion," and by another, that it was rather " Charles's martyrdom," 

Another time he attempted a jovial, rakish character in one of 
JVfrs. Behn's licentious comedies, from which, however, he expunged 
all the offensive passages ; but he was not successful.* I met him one 
day as I was hurrying home to dress for dinner abroad, and he 
strongly pressed me to go and dine with him, alleging that as Pop 
(Mrs. Kemble) was out of town, he should be lonely and dull. I 
told him I was positively engaged, and should hardly be in time. 
"" Well, then," said he, " I'll go home and study a pantomime." It is 

* Kemble certainly believed that he possessed comic talents, and as far as a strong 
sense of humour and a disposition to enjoy jocularity could tend to excite such a. 
conjj^tion, he might naturally yield to self-deception. My lively friend George 
Colman, whose exuberant gayety spares nobody, and to whose satirical turn I have 
often been a witness and a victim, being asked his opinion of Kemble's " Don Felix," 
said that it displayed too much of the Don and too little of the Felix. Kemble 
could bear jocular remarks on his acting with unaffected good-humour. I remem- 
ber that after we became tolerably well acquainted, and were one day talking on the 
subject of his Hamlet, I perhaps too freely said, "Come, Kemble, I'll give an 
imitation of your Hamlet." " Til be glad," said he, " to improve by the reflec- 
tion." I then raised my right hand over my forehead, as connoisseurs do when 
looking at a picture, and looking intently as if some object was actually before me, 
and referring to the platform scene, exclaimed, " My father," and then bending my 
hand into the form of an opera-glass, and peeping through it, continued, " Methinks 
I see my father." He took this freedom in good part, and only said, "Why, 
Taylor, I never used such an action." " No," said I, " but from your first aotion 
everybody expected that the other would follow." Whenever he spoke of his great 
predecessor, he never failed to say " Mr. Garrick." 



JOHN KEMBLE. S5 

liardly possible to conceive so grave a character contemplating new 
tricks and escapes for harlequin, and blunders for the clown. 

He had determined to act FalstafF, and I w^as in the green-room at 
Covent Garden theatre one Saturday, when, after his performance of 
some character which I do not recollect, three beards were brought 
to him, that he might choose one for Falstaff. We were invited to 
dine the nest day with the late Dr. Charles Burney, rector of Dept- 
ford. Kemble took me in his chariot, and we talked on the road of 
his intended FalstafF. He said that he had resolved to attempt the 
part, but was afraid that when " he came to the point his heart would 
fail him," A ludicrous incident happened at this dinner. The doctor, 
in helping Kemble to part of a pudding, gave him a very large portion, 
which induced me to say, " Burney, you do not observe Kemble's 
rule in your ample allotment to him." " What is that ?" said the doc- 
tor. " Why," said I, " when I last dined with him, I v^^as as lavish as 
you in distributing a similar dish. Kemble said, ' Taylor, don't help 
so much to an individual, for if you do it will not go round the table.' " 
Being somewhat in the habit of imitating Kemble, I spoke these words 
in his manner, forgetting that he was before me. " Now," said Kem- 
ble, " he thinks he is imitating me — I appeal to the lady ;" and theso 
words he delivered so much in the manner which 1 had assumed, that 
Mrs. Burney and the doctor could not help laughing, Kemble gave 
way to the same impulse, and I was relieved from embarrassment. 

I was one night in a box with him when the theatre was illumina- 
ted preparatory to the opening for the season, and a Mr. Rees was 
employed to give imitations, in order to try the effect of the voice. 
Kemble was one of the persons imitated, and while the man was de- 
livering an imitation of him, Kemble, in little above a whisper, knock- 
ing his stick on the ground, said, with perfect good-humour, " Speak 
louder, you rascal, speak louder." The man did not hear, nor did 
Kemble intend he should. 

Before the return of Mrs. Kemble from the country, I dined with, 
liim one day Ute-d-iete, and a very pleasant evening I passed. I sub-f 
mitted to him my tale of Frank Hayman, on which he made some judi- 
cious corrections in writing, on the spot, and afterward read to me 
his translation of Ovid's epistle from CEnone to Paris, which, so far as 
I could judge by mere recitation, was rendered with poetic spirit and 
beauty. He told me that he intended to publish it, with graphic illus- 
trations by his friend Sir Thomas Lawrence. It is to be regretted 
that it was not published, as it would do honour to his memory. He 
held Sir Thomas Lawrence in the highest esteem and friendship, and 
these feelings were evidently returned in full measure by the great 
artist, as by the many portraits which he painted of Mr. Kemble, it is 
obvious that his time and talents might have been employed to much 
pecuniary advantage, v/hile they were thus devoted to friendship. I 
believe no friendship which history has recorded, was more sincere 
and warm than that between the great painter and the great actor, — ■ 
both v^rith minds well stored, both men of correct taste and polished 
Manners. 

E 



86 RECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

Mr. Kemble possessed a high and manly spirit. He was involvedf 
in a duel with Mr. Daly, the manager of the Dublin theatre, before he 
first came to London ; and anotlier with Mr. James Aikin, a respect- 
able actor of Drury-lane theatre, when Mr. Kemble was manager. 
Aikin, though a sensible and worthy man, was irritable and obstinate. 
Mr. Kemble might easily have avoided the last duel, but would not 
suffer his spirit to be called in question. 

The late Hon. Mr. St. John had written a tragedy entitled "'Mary- 
Queen of Scots," which he had submitted to the Drury-lane manager, 
and which had been accepted for representation ; but the anxiety of 
the author induced him to complain of delay in bringing it before the 
public. Some hasty words passed in the green-room on the occasion 
between him and Mr. Kemble. At length, in the irritation of literary 
vanity and aristocratic pride, he told Mr. Kemble that he was a mari 
whom " he could not call out." Mr. Kemble answered with perfect 
coolness, " But you are a man whom I can turn out, and therefore I 
desire you will leave this place immediately." Mr. St. John prudently 
retired, but, reflecting on the insult which he had offered to a scholar 
and a gentleman, soon returned and made an apology, which restored 
good-humour, and the play was soon afterward represented, but not 
with nmch success. 

It was a common trick with Tickel, when supping at a coffee-house 
witha friend, to quit the room upon some pretence for a few moments^ 
and leave the friend to pay the reckoning. I met him and Joe Rich- 
ardson one night in the Piazza at Covent Garden, and they insisted 
on my going with them into the coffee-house to take a few oysters. I 
readily complied, but reflecting that I had only a few shillings in my 
pocket, and fully aware of Tickel's practice, 1 kept watch over him,, 
that I might run no hazard. At length, remaining till a very late hour, 
as might naturally be expected with men of such talents, I desired my 
friend Richardson to pay my share, and retreated. This habit was 
certainly not the effect of meanness or of parsimony in Tickel, but of 
a waggish humour, by which I should assuredly have suffered, as it 
would have been an additional pleasure to play it off on a novice. 

I was well acquainted with the characters both of Tickel and Sher- 
idan. It was supposed by some of their friends, though not of the 
most discerning, that Sheridan was jealous of the conversational 
powers of Tickel. If there really was any jealousy between them, 
which I sincerely hope w^as not the case, as they were originally warm 
friends, besides being connected by marrying two amiable sisters, the 
jealousy was more likely to be on the side of Tickel, as he had failed 
in an opera, entitled " The Carnival of Venice," and Sheridan had 
been successful in all his dramatic pieces, which are styled what are 
called stock-plays, and had, moreover, become one of the chief national 
characters as an orator and a politician. Besides, Sheridan's poetical 
genius was of a higher cast, as "evinced in his " Monody on the death 
of Garrick," and his admirable prologues and epilogues, which are 
equal to any in our language. It is not, however, to be inferred, that 
though Sheridan's powers were of a superior order, Tickel was no$ 



TICKEL AND SHERIDAI7. 5^ 

possessed of considerable talents, — in fact, that he was not a man ©C 
genius. He displayed great wit, humour, and an appropriate delinea- 
tion and characteristic diversity of character in his " Anticipation," 
and poetical spirit in his " Wreath of Fashion," and more in his "Charles 
Fox, partridge-shooting, to John Townshend, cruising." He was pe- 
culiarly spirited and entertaining in conversation. 

A whimsical circumstance, exemplifying this last quality, occurred 
during a short visit which he paid at Oxford, to the head of one of the 
colleges. Dining in the common room, and happening to be more 
than ordinarily facetious, a very old member of the university, whose 
mind had been impaired by study and time, and who was very deaf^ 
observing the effect of his lively sallies on the company, and hearing 
that his name was Tickel, asked the gentleman who sat next to himj^ 
and who was a wag, whether tha.t was the Mr. Tickel who had been 
the friend of Mr. Addison. The gentleman told him it was the same^ 
person. The old member then expressed great regret that he Fat at 
such a distance, and was too deaf to hear the brilliant effusions of Mr^ 
Tickel's genius, particularly, too, as he might also hear some original 
anecdotes of his immortal friend the author of " Cato." The wag, to 
console him, promised that whenever Mr. Tickel uttered any thing 
of striking humour, or told an interesting anecdote, he would relate it 
to him. The wag gave a hint to the company, most of whom hap- 
pened to be as sportive as himself, of the old member's misconception. 
in taking the Mr. Tickel present for his grandfather, and promised 
themselves much entertainment from the mistake. Tickel exerted 
himself wilh great gayety to exhibit his genius and learning, and the 
old member was quite agog to hear what passed. Whenever a laugkj 
was excited by what Tickel said, the old gentleman resorted to his 
waggish friend to know what he had heard. The wag either invented 
a hon mot, or told a ludicrous incident, which, perhaps, delighted the 
former even more than if he had heard Tickel's real effusion. This 
whimsical entertainment continued till the humour was no longer 
diverting to the party ; and the object of this hardly allowable jocu-^ 
larity retired, proud that he had been in company with the friend of 
Mr. Addison, but lamenting that he could only profit by his wit and 
Ihumour at second-hand. 

Tickel, though such I believe was not the case, might envy the su- 
erior genius of Sheridan, but the latter had no reason to be envious 
k)f Tickel. Tickel had more of vanity, Sheridan more of pride> 
Tickel was perpetually gay and ambitious to shine in society ; he was 
therefore always on the watch for some opportunity of making a,, 
brilliant sally, and often succeeded. Sheridan was contented to be 
psy and observing, and quietly waited till the stream of conversatioa 
should bear something worthy of his notice, and give occasion for some 
appropriate anecdote or sarcastic obsei'vation. In telling a story,.. 
Sheridan's terms were selected with so much judgment that the sub- 
stance and point came forth with full effect, and admitted of no addi- 
tion or embellishment, and his satirical strokes were shrewd, pointed^ 
md evinced a very unfavourable opinion of mankind. In relating aife 

E2 



88 RECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

anecdote, Tickel was too apt to decorate it with a flourishing luxuri- 
ance, and to look round to observe its effect on the company. Sher- 
idan seemed only intent on telling the plain matter of fact, and gen- 
erally addressed himself to an individual. Tickel seemed desirous of 
impressing the person whom he addressed with a sense of his spright- 
liness and fancy. Sheridan, when he spoke to a mere stranger in 
company, spoke in a kind of confidential manner, that disarmed all awk- 
ward feeling, and excited an idea in the hearer that he was deemed 
worthy of conversation and confidence. This air of confidence on 
the part of Sheridan rendered his manner irresistible. There had cer- 
tainly been some difference between Sheridan and Tickel, which 
even the death of the latter had not subdued in the mind of the for- 
mer ; for, on their return from Richardson's funeral, at which -I was 
present, Sheridan behaved in a maijner that indicated the decline of 
friendship between them. . 

Tickel could not but have been, happy in his first marriage with an 
accomplished branch of the Linley family, a family distinguished for 
talents ; but he was certainly not so in his second. The lady was a 
beauty, and brought some fortune. They kept a coach, an extrava- 
gance which her fortune and his income as a commissioner of the 
Stamp-office could not support. His wife expected him to be con- 
stantly with her, and when he wanted to take a walk with a friend, 
she importuned him to ride in the coach with her. At length he be- 
came embarrassed in his affairs and desponding in his temper, and he 
who was once all vivacity, sank into melancholy and dejection, inso- 
much as to render it doubtful whether his falling from the parapet at 
Hampton Court Palace was wholly accidental. 

It is a melancholy consideration, that almost immediately after his 
death, a near relation, who had been apprized of his desponding state, 
came with ample means to relieve him from all his necessities. His 
chief production was the popular pamphlet entitled " Anticipation," in 
which he characterized with admirable ingenuity and humour the more 
conspicuous members of the House of Commons at that period. It 
was generally supposed that he derived considerable advantage from 
the hints of Lord North, who possessed great wit and humour. 

The second Mrs. Tickel, it is said, found a less indulgent husband 
in her second marriage, and sank into a despondency like that which 
attended the last days of her former partner. A beautiful whole-length 
drawing of her was made by my late friend Cosway, with all the taste 
and spirit which distinguished his works in miniature, from which there 
was a correct engraving. This lady was the daughter of a captain 
in the East India Company's marine, in which service he had amassed 
about twenty thousand pounds ; but, being afraid to vest it in any public 
securities, he lived upon the capital, which gave Tickel Httle hopes of 
deriving much from the death of his father-in-law, and probably aug- 
mented that dejection which occasioned the termination of his life. 



BEV. WILMAM PETEKS. 



CHAPTER XII. 

Rev. William Peters. With this gentleman I was acquainted 
in my early days. I was introduced to him by the Rev. Richard 
Pinnock, rector of Abinger in Surrey, and of St. John's, Bermondsey. 
He was also chaplain to the Earl of Godolphin, and one of the officers 
of the British Museum, He was an irritable but an honourable 
man ; a good classical and French scholar. He had a turn for humour 
and poetry. Whenever I received an invitation to dine with him, it 
was generally conveyed in rhyme. He lived to a very advanced age, 
and I joined in the melancholy doty of attending his funeral, with 
the present Sir John St. Aubin, Bart., and the late Mr. Planta, theia 
chief officer of the British Museum. 

I knew Mr. Peters had entered into the church. As an artist, he 
had gained considerable reputation in portrait-painting. After he 
became a clergyman, he resigned his situation as a royal academician, 
conceiving that it would be unsuitable to his clerical function ; but 
on his resignation, he was appointed chaplain to the Royal Academy, 
which, though a mere nominal office, evinced the respect of the 
president, the late Sir Joshua Reynolds, and of the council of that 
institution. 

Mr. Peters told me, that besides the propriety of resigning his 
academical honour, he was induced to relinquish his profession of an 
artist by the following circumstance: A lady of quality having 
requested he would recommend her to a good landscape-painter, as 
she wanted a couple of pictures of that description, he replied, that 
considering Richard Wilson as the best painter of landscapes, he 
recommended him. The lady then desired that he would accompany 
her to the painter's house. He accordingly went with her, and found 
tli,e artist at home. The lady desired to see some specimens of his 
skill, and Wilson had luckily not sent home two pictures which he 
had just finished, and brought them to her. Peters said he was afraid 
that Wilson's bold style and rough colouring would not be suitable to 
female taste, and that the lady would not be duly impressed with the 
grandeur of his conceptions, that he, therefore, placed them at some 
distance, in order to make them appear to more advantage. The 
lady, however, happened to be struck with them, and gave him a 
commission to paint two landscapes, at a liberal price, on subjects 
chosen by himself. As Peters v/as going to hand the lady into her 
carriage, not intending to return with her, Wilson whispered that he 
.wanted to speak to him. Peters, of course, returned with him. 
Wilson, after thanking him warmly for his kind recommendation, told 
him he was so distressed, that if Peters would not lend him ten 
guineas, he could not fulfil the order, as he had no money tobuy 
colours or canvass. Peters promised he would send the money to 



^0 RECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

Iiimi as soon as he reached home. Peters assured me that the dis- 
tress of this great artist produced a strong effect upon his mind ; for 
if Wilson, who was decidedly the best painter in his province of art, 
was so reduced, what must he expect who had so many rivals of 
distinguished talent in the line of portrait ? 

Peters after this began to prepare himself for the church, and 
^entered his name at one of the colleges at Oxford. In this univer- 
sity he became acquainted with the late Mr. William Gifford, whosQ 
translations of " Juvenal" and " Persius" prove his learning and poeti- 
cal vigour, and whose editions of the works of Massinger, of Ben 
Jonson, and of Ford, may fairly rank him as the best dramatic critic 
in our language. Mr. Peters, no doubt, improved his classical know- 
ledge, and prepared himself for the sacred calling by the assistance 
of Mr. Gifford. Mr, Peters and Mr. Gifford remained in intimacy 

and friendship for some years, but, as Dryden says, 

• 

" All human things are subject to decay ;" 

and, unhappily, friendship is founded on the same uncertain tenure. 
At length these friends became bitter enemies ; but before this melan- 
'choly event took place, I dined with Mr. Peters at a house in Mill- 
bank, which belonged to the late Lord Grosvenor, and in which his 
lordship permitted him to reside. On this occasion I first met Mr. 
'Clifford, to whom Mr. Peters had expressed a desire to introduce me. 
What was the immediate cause of the dissension between these old 
Criends I never heard, but their hostility to each other was of the 
bitterest kind. 

When Peters quitted Oxford, he continued to correspond with 
Gifford, who remained there ; and, to save the expense of postage, 
Peters obtained franks from Lord Grosvenor for his letters to Gifford, 
;tind his lordship permitted the letters of Giffjrd to pass under cover 
to his lordship. On one occasion Gifford forgot to seal his letter to 
Peters, and Lord Grosvenor frankly confessed that he had the curiosity 
to read it. His lordship was so struck by the literary merit of this 
Jetter, that he thought the author would be a proper travelling tutor 
for his son, the present Lord Grosvenor. He therefore desired 
Peters to invite Gifford to London, where he soon received an invi- 
tation to reside at his lordship's house, in Grosvenor-square. Gifford 
was shortly appointed tutor to Lord Belgrave, and afterward accom- 
panied his noble pupil abroad. 

During the time that Peters and Gifford remained in friendship, the 
former considered the unsealed letter as an accident, but when they 
quarrelled, he represented it to me as an artifice, by which Gifford 
thought to tempt the curiosity of Lord Grosvenor. He had taken, itj 
seems, uncommon pains with the letter, in order, as Peters alleged,! 
to make a forcible impression on his lordship, and his plan succeeded.' 

Gifford had become acquainted with Mr. Hoppner the painter, and 
liad introduced him at Grosvenor House. This circumstance, no 
•jdoubt, must have displeased Peters, who knew that Hoppner was of] 



KEY. W. PETERS AND MR. GIFFORD. 91 

« very satirical turn, and spared nobody. What hastened the extinc- 
tion of the friendship between Peters and GifFord I know not, except 
that GifFord and Hoppner, as Peters said, had undermined him in the 
estimation of Lord Grosvenor, and forced him to relinquish his con- 
nexion with his lordship. At length there was an open rupture 
between the former friends. 

Gilford was accused by Peters of having, in a public newspaper, 
ridiculed his pictures in the Royal Academy exhibition, assisted by the 
professional suggestions of Hoppner. I remember to have read a 
critique of this description, on a picture of Adam and Eve in Para- 
dise, which was remarkably humorous and severe. Mr, Combe, 
■who was a friend to both parties, at length interfered to prevent 
further hostihties, but failing, he signified that unless Lord Grosvenor 
put a stop to this persecution of his old friend Peters, he would write 
■an heroic epistle to Lord Grosvenor from his repudiated lady. As 
Mr. Combe w'as known to possess a powerful pen, and was a zealous 
friend to Peters, this intimation was conveyed to his lordship, who 
then interposed, and requested that all this literary warfare should end, 
and from that time they were contented to abuse each other in private. 

By this time I had become very well acquainted with Gilford, and 
frequently heard the complaints of both parlies. It was curious to 
■iind that their accusations against each other were exactly the same. 
They each charged the other with mean and disgraceful subserviency 
to the vices of Lord Grosvenor. It is certain that Peters, before he 
took holy orders, and probably while he was not in a very prosperous 
state, painted some subjects for the noble lord which were far from 
being of a decorous nature ; but who is to blame, the rich man who 
suggested such subjects, or the poor one who stood in need of his 
patronage ? I have often heard Peters deeply lament that he ever 
devoted his talents to such subjects, not only because they were de- 
grading to his character, but, as far as I could judge, from sincere 
moral regret. On the other hand, Peters charged Gifibrd with a pli- 
ant subserviency to those vices of his patron which had dictated the 
subjects in question. In proof of this charge Peters used to relate a 
story, which, even if I could believe, I should not think proper to 
introduce in this place. 

I have often, though with caution, sounded both as to the possibility 
of effecting a reconciliation, but found it a hopeless matter, and 
therefore never acknowledged to either that I had seen the other, 
and avoided a subject which was mournful and disgusting. 

Mr. Peters being troubled with asthma for some years before his 
-death, was obliged to sleep in the country, so that I very rarely saw 
him ; but soon after his death I received a note from his widow, 
j-equesting I would call on her in town, as she had something to com- 
municate to me. I went accordingly, and was informed by her that 
her husband had left me a legacy of fifty guineas. I was much sur- 
prised at this bequest, as I had not seen Mr. Peters for some years, 
and thought he had forgotten me. His legacy, however, was a proof 
<>f his friendly feeling towards me, which had not lessened by absence. 



©2 RECORDS OF MT LIFE. 

Mr. John Horne Tooke. I was acquainted with this gentlemare 
many years, and always found him polite and good-humoured. I was 
iirst introduced to him when he resided in Richmond Buildings, by 
Mr. Arthur Murphy, and though I did not adopt his political prin- 
ciples, he was too agreeable, and too instructive a companion for me 
not to cultivate the connexion. He told me, soon after I became 
acquainted with him, that he knev/ who Junius was at the time of his 
public correspondence with him ; and when I expressed my surprise 
that he did not contrive to answer his formidable assailant in a private 
manner, he declared he became acquainted with him under such cir- 
cumstances of honourable secrecy, that it would have been treachery 
in him to avow his knowledge. In his correspondence with Wilkes^ 
after his quarrel with him, he certainly does not appear to much epis- 
tolary advantage in comparison, however strong might be his facts, 
and however cogent his arguments. Wilkes's answers were always 
playful, "sprightly, and humorous. It does not appear that Wilkes 
provoked him to the attack, but Horne Tooke was too discerning a 
man not to see that Wilkes was in reality a patriot for his own inte- 
rest, not for that of the public. i 

Tooke was certainly a republican, and having discovered WilkesV 
interested views, withdrew all confidence from him and became his 
bitter enemy. Mr. Tooke once advised me, whenever I said any 
thing that I wished to have kept secret, never to say it in the presence 
of a third person, " for if," said he, " there were only one person pre- 
sent, and he were to betray you, you might deny all he said, and the 
testimony of each would then depend upon his own character; and 
your denial, though untrue, would be a just punishment on your 
opponent for his treachery." 

I once called on him in Richmond Buildings, with Mr. Merry the 
poet, just as the latter was on the eve of being married to Miss^ 
Brunton the actress. In the course of conversation, Ilr. Tooke ad- 
verted to this intended marriage, and directing his discourse to me, 
said, " I told this gentleman that I was once as near the danger of 
matrimony as he is at present, but an old friend to whom I looked 
with reverence for his wisdom and experience, gave me the following 
advice. * You must first,' said he, ' consider the person of the lady, and 
endeavour to satisfy yourself that if she has excited, she is likely to- 
secure, your admiration. You must deeply scrutinize her mind, reflect ' 
"whether she possesses a rate of intellect that would be likely to 
render her an intelligent companion ; if you are satisfied she does^ 
you are to examine her temper, and if you find it amiable, and not 
likely to irritate your own on any occasion, you must proceed to ob- 
tain all the information you can procure respecting her parents and 
other relatives ; and if you have no reason to object to their being 
your relations and companions, you must then inquire who and what 
are her friends, for you must not expect her to sacrifice all her old 
connexions when she becomes your wife, and if you find them agree- 
able people, and not likely to be burdensome or intrusive, and are 
quite satisfied with the prospect, you may then order j^our wedding: 



nORNE TOOEE. 9S 

clothes, and fix the day for the marriage. When the bride is dressed 
suitable to the occasion, the friends at church, and the priest ready to 
begin, you should get upon your horse and ride away from the place as 
fast and as far as your horse could carry you. This counsel," added 
Mr. Tooke, " from one who was thoroughly acquainted with the world,^ 
made me investigate the nature of wedlock ; and considering the 
difficulties attending the advice which he recommended, made me 
resolve never to enter into the happy state." 

This counsel, however, had no effect upon Mr. Merry, who soon 
after married, though certainly he was solicitous to avoid the match. 
Mr. Tooke however was a man of gallantry. He had two amiabl e 
daughters, with whom I have had the pleasure of being in comp any^ 
and was assured by the late Dr. George Pearson that they were 
good Latin scholars. He had also a son, but w^hose conduct he 
represented as so different from that of his daughters, that on Mr„ 
Merry asking what had become of him, Mr. Tooke said he did not 
know, but hoped the nest news he should hear of him would be that 
he was hanged. 

It would be presumptuous in me to attempt to measure the mind 
of Mr. Home Tooke, but, as far I could venture to judge, he com- 
bined logic and waggery so habitually, that he would not have been 
an eloquent parliamentary orator ; as he would rather have endea- 
voured to detect and ridicule the errors and inconsistencies of others 
than have proposed any thing original from himself. He told me that 
■when he attended at any political meetings he very seldom went with 
an intention to speak, but that he as seldom maintained his contem- 
plated silence. I remember once, and only once, I dined with the 
Revolutionary Society, instituted in a great measure in honour of 
King William the Third. The celebrated Dr. Price was the chairman 
on this occasion, and Mr. Horne Tooke sat next to him. In the course 
of the day, I asked the latter if he intended to address the company. 
He said " No, I delight in the anniversary of a day intended to cele- 
brate the delivery from monarchical despotism and bigotry, and resign 
myself wholly to convivial enjoyment." I ventured to hint that 
something would occur probably which would draw forth his public 
spirit, and so it happened ; for in about an hour something induced 
him to address the company, when he was answered by my old 
friend, now Mr. Baron Garrow : I have totally forgotten the subject 
of their brief controversy, but I remember the jocularity of both 
excited merriment through the room, and ended in good-humour. 

I went afterward into the tea-room with Mr. Tooke, and it was 
there he suggested to me the cautious policy which I have mentioned 
above. I believe that this dinner which I attended was the last time 
the society ever assembled. It once, however, numbered among its 
members some of the most respectable wdiig characters in the coun- 
try, but as they had not taken leave of monarchical principles, when 
they saw the dreadful excesses which the revolutionary dogmas of 
France had occasioned, they withdrew from the society, and left it to 

E3 



^ RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

Ae low tavern reformers, who never attempted to muster another 
meeting. 

It has been said that when Mr. Tooke was conveyed by the way 
of IsHngton into custody to the Tower, he looked at the fields, and, 
with tears in eyes, said — " Ah ! I am afraid I shall see you no more.'" 
These words are so repugnant to the firm and decisive temper of 
.his mind, that it is impossible for those who knew him to give any 
credit to the report. 

The last time I had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Home Tooke was 
in Lincoln's Inn Fields, where he was walking with his daughters. I 
joined them, and in the course of conversation he said, " I have often 
invited you to my dinner-parties on Sundays, at Wimbledon, but I 
Ivnow you dare not come." I assured him that I expected too much 
pleasure on such an occasion to be afraid of appearing there, and 
that I should take an early opportunity of accompanying my friend 
Dr. Pearson in his carriage. Something or other, however, always 
interfered, and I never attended the meetings. Politics must of 
course have generally been " the order of the day," as Mr. Tooke 
has more than once told me that in all his conversations, and in all 
his writings, whatever was the subject, politics were sure to intrude. 
I have said that I believe he was a republican, and I think the follow- 
ing passage from one of his letters to Junius will justify the suspicion, 
even were there no other reasons that I could offer in support of it. 

" The right divine and sacredness of kings is to me a senselesss 
jargon. It was thought a daring expression of Oliver Cromwell, 
in the time of Charles the First, that if he found himself placed op- 
posite to the king in battle, he would discharge his piece into his 
bosom as soon as into any other man's. I go farther ; had I lived in 
those days, I would not have waited for chance to give me an oppor- 
tunity of doing my duty ; 1 would have sought him through the ranks, 
and without the least personal enmity, have discharged my piece into 
his bosom rather than into any other man's." 

My late friend Mr. Joseph Richardson told me, that, generally, 
after a certain baronet had been with Mr. Home Tooke for a few 
-days, he returned to town with a mind so heated by the principles of 
that gentleman, that he seemed as if he had been in a political fur- 
nace ; and it was not till several days had passed that Mr. Fox and 
his other political associates could bring him again within the sound 
influence of constitutional whiggism. They however held in great 
respect the understanding and political principles of the baronet, and 
attributed his occasional tendency to republican notions wholly to the 
reasonings and ingenious sophistry of the politician of Wimbledon. 

There was such a mixture of humour, waggery, ridicule, archness, 
and learning in the character of Mr. Tooke, that when he took pains to 
gain proselytes to his opinions, he was generally successful. In his 
controversy with Junius, the argument was certainly in his favour, but 
he proved much inferior in literary talents. Junius had rashly ad- 
jfaoced charges against Mr. Home which he could not support, and 
therefore he was, of course, conquered in reasoning ; but the humoiiP 



HORNE TOOKE, 95 

and ingenuity with which Junius retreats from the contest, demon- 
strates the superiority of his literary skill. 

The two poetical quotations which Mr. Home introduced into his 
letter, and for which he is so humorously attacked by Junius, are 
taken from the works of Ben Jonson, as the late Mr. William Gifford 
told me, but I have never thought it worth while to trace them in his 
plays. That admirable artist, Mr. Westall, related to me a circum- 
stance which illustrates the logical waggery which I always observed 
in Mr. Florne Tooke, and also the vehement irritability of Dr. Parr. 
He said that he was in company with these distinguished characters, 
and witnessed a dispute between them. Parr was vehement and 
loudly declamatory ; Tooke was sportive and satirical. Notwith- 
standing the thundering hostility of Parr, Tooke was serene and 
jocosely bitter. At length Parr arose, and said, " If I had entertained 
an opinion which I thought founded on truth, and determined never 
to abandon — if I thought that your opinion was the same, I would 
immediately renounce it with detestation." 

If Mr. Home Tooke could have transferred the same jocoss 
severity to his pen which was so conspicuous and successful on his 
tongue, he might have equalled if not have conquered Junius, in wit 
4is well as in argument. 

I once promised myself a very pleasant and instructive day, having 
invited Mr. Combe, whom I have before mentioned, and Mr. Home 
Tooke, to dine with me. What prevented Mr. Combe from coming I 
do not recollect, but I believe that a total difference in political princi- 
ples with Mr. Home Tooke occasioned his reluctance to meet him. 
Upon general topics, Mr. Combe would have been highly entertain- 
ing, particularly in the abundance of his anecdotes of high life when 
he mixed in fashionable circles; and Mr. Home Tooke's genera! 
opinion and reflections would have been equally instructive, but as his 
conversation, however began, invariably led to politics, and might 
have ended in an unpleasant controversy, it was well that they did 
not meet. As Mr. Home Tooke did not keep the engagement, I 
wrote to him the next day, and after expressing the disappointment 
which I felt in not having been favoured v/ith his company, I assured 
him I consoled myself with the idea that he was too much absorbed 
in some work, intended for the advantage of mankind, to recollect 
such a trifling concern as an engagement to dinner with an humble 
friend. I received the following answer, of which I have preserved 
the original as a curiosity, coming from so extraordinary and coa- 
spicuous a character. 

to john taylor, esq, 

My deak Sir, 
I beg, ten thousand times, your pardon. My house is repairing 
and my memoranda were all taken down in the dirt and confusion of 
my parlour ; in which confusion I still remaia. I completely and 



a® HECORPS OF MY LIFE. 

totally forgot my engagement. I feel extremely for the displeasure 
you must have entertained. I have only the excuse of CEdipus — 

♦' My hands are guilty, but my heart is free." 

Again, I beg you to pardon me. 

Dear sir, 
Your sorrowful humble servant, 

J. H. TOOKE. 

The late Dr. George Pearson was very much attached to Mr, 
Home Tooke, and visited him as often as he had opportunity, and 
thought highly of his character apart from politics, which the doctor 
told me he always cautiously avoided, though it was difficult, indeed 
impossible, to restrain Mr. Tooke's tendency to the discussion of such 
topics. The doctor, however, always contrived to turn the discourse^ 
and give occasion to some waggery, in which he was as ready to indulge 
his humour, as in political animadversion. Dr. Pearson was generally 
deemed well read in Latin and Greek, and considered Mr. Tooke as 
an acute critic and profound scholar. 

Mr. Prince Iloare told me that he was once present in company 
with Mr. Home Tooke, when he proposed some subject relative to 
the powers of the human voice ; that he separately addressed all the 
company, requesting their opinions, which he afterward summed up,, 
and then delivered- his own, manifesting such perspicuity, as well as 
comprehensive knowledge, as excited the admiration of all present. 
Firm as his mind was, like all human beings, he had some odd con- 
ceptions, and was at times very irritable. His desire of being^ 
buried in his garden was a whim, which his executors prudently re- 
jected, and had him interred according to the ordinary rites of sepul- 
ture. I regret to hear that he was so irascible and violent in his 
temper as death approached, that there were no traces of the phi- 
losopher in his conduct, and he was so turbulent that it was painful . 
to go near him, yet perpetually calling for attendance. At lengthy 
after a painful illness, he was released from his sufferings, and his at- 
tendants ascribed his impatience to the severity of what he endured, 
•which wholly overcame his natural tendency to good-humour. 



CHAPTER Xni. 

Edward JERNiNCiHAM, Esq. This gentleman I consider as alto- 
gether one of the most amiable and intelligent persons I ever knew. I 
had admired his poems in general when I had not the least idea that I 
should ever become acquainted with him. He had received his 
education chiefly in France, and came to London about the twen- 
tieth year of his age, for the purpose of being present at the corona* 



EDWARD JEKNINGHAM, ESQ. 97 

tion of King George the Third. His family were Roman Catholics^ 
and he was of the same persuasion. He told me that the first subject 
which engrossed his attention was the grounds of difference between 
the Protestants and Roman Catholics, and he therefore read atten- 
tively all that the most eminent advocates on both sides had said in 
support of their respective principles. The result was a firm con- 
viction of the truth of the Protestant faith, to which he conformed ; 
and such were the liberal sentiments of his family, that, as they knew 
he was not governed by any motives of worldly interest, they indeed 
regretted, but were not offended at his desertion of their traditional 
and hereditary religious creed. 

He told me that he had been always a great admirer of poetry;, 
and at a very early period had become a votary of the muse ; that 
he therefore had felt great pleasure in bringing from France a letter 
of introduction to the celebrated Miss Martha Blount, the favourite 
of Pope. He described her as short, plump, and of rather a florid 
complexion, agreeable and lively in her manners, but not with such 
an understanding, or such marks of elegance and high-breedino-, as 
might have been expected in the favourite of so distinguished a poet 
as Mr. Pope. 

Mr. Jerningham was admitted to a familiar intercourse with the 
great Earl of Chesterfield, who told him that, seeing Miss Blount at 
a large party one evening when the report of the day had been that 
Mr. Pope was dead, he made his v/ay to her in the room, and ex- 
pressed the peculiar pleasure which he felt in seeing her, as her pre- 
sence contradicted the melancholy rumour of the morning, concludino- 
that if it had been well founded he should certainly not have seen her 
in that place. When the lady understood the nature of it, she affected 
some surprise that such a report should be expected to prevent her 
from visiting her friends, and displayed so much flippant indifference 
on the subject, that the nobleman, who had a great friendship for 
Mr. Pope, resented her levity so much that he never spoke to her 
again. Pope manifested his opinion of Lord Chesterfield by the fol- 
lowing couplet on using his lordship's pencil, which ought to have 
been included in the poet's works. 

Accept a miracle instead of wit, 

See two dull lines by Stanhope's pencil writ. 

Mr. Jerningham used to dine very frequently with Lord Chester- 
field towards the close of that nobleman's life. The dinner-hour 
was three. The party generally consisted of the earl, his countess, 
and an old Roman Catholic priest. The lady and the priest were 
perpetually jangling, chiefly on religious topics. They were both 
very violent, and though the earl could not hear them, he saw by their 
gestures that they were engaged in controversy, and used to console 
himself that there was one advantage in his deafness, as it prevented 
him from hearing the grounds of their disputes, and consequently 
from being appealed to as an arbiter by either party. The dispu- 



58 BECORDS OP MY UFE» 

tants paid no regard to his lordship, or to his guest Mr. Jerningham, 
who, by the assistance of the earl's ear-trumpet, was enabled to con- 
verse with him, and described his conversation as a source of tho 
most interesting and instructive observations. Here I may properly 
introduce a very elegant compliment which Mr. Jerningham paid to 
Lord Chesterfield in some verses, the whole of which would do 
honour to these pages. After a general reference to the earl's merits, 
lie thus ingeniously adverts to his deafness : 

Though deafness, by a doom severe, 

Steals from thine ear the murmuring rill. 

And Pliilomel's delightful air, — 
E'en deem not this a partial ill. 

Ah ! if anew thine ear was strung, 

Awake to every voice around, 
Thy praises, by the many sung, 

Would stun thee with the choral sound. 

I had once an opportunity of applying the last line very aptly to 
the author himself. We were at a concert together in the Hanover- 
square rooms, when, observing him lean on the orchestra during th© 
performance, I softly asked him if it did not " Stun him with the 
choral sound." He did not at first recollect the reference, but in a 
moment turned away with a sort of laughing confusion. 

In the prologue to his comedy of " The Welsh Heiress," which I 

wrote at his desire, I styled him 

» 
A modest minstrel x)f the plaintive choir. 

In the four volumes of his works will be found not only many pathetic 
poems, but several of them characterized by high and heroic senti- 
ments. His poem entitled " The Shakspeare Gallery," that on 
" The rise and progress of Northern Poetry," that " On Enthusiasm," 
and, indeed, many others, are marked by such poetical genius as, in 
my opinion, give him a place among some of our celebrated poets. 
His works were very popular in the higher circles, particularly with 
those who added taste and learning to rank and affluence. 

Horace Walpole, afterward Lord Orford, complimented him in 
verse. He w^as intimate with the late Earl of Harcourt, at whose 
seat he was a frequent visiter, as well as with the late Earl of Car- 
lisle, with whom he passed some months at Castle Howard. But 
what, indeed, proves the estimation in- which his character and talents 
were held, is, that he was honoured with an invitation to the Pavilion 
at Brighton by his late majesty George the Fourth, when Prince of 
Wales, remained there for two or three weeks, and, by desire of his 
royal highness, regulated the librar5^ 

When Mr. Jerningham published the last collection of his works, 
he introduced a note to his poem of " Abelard to Eloisa," which I 
venture to insert, because I was proud of the friendship of such u 
man, and could not but be highly gratified with his commendation. 
The note was as follows : — " The following poem has been distia- 



EDWARD JEUNINGHAM, ESQ. 99 

guished by a beautiful sonnet, inserted in a volume of poems that 
does honour to modern poetry, by Mr. Taylor, a gentleman whose 
commendation is a passport to fame, except where it is directed (as 
in the present instance) by the amiable bias of friendship." Mr. 
•Terningham was not merely a gentleman, a scholar, and a poet, but 
a patriot and a politician. His poem entitled " Peace, Ignominy, and 
Destruction," written during the time of the French revolution, dis- 
plays an ardent devotion to his country and the British constitution, 
as well as a sound knowledge of its principles. 

Mr. Burke having been alluded to in the poem, as the great cham- 
pion of order and good government, says, in a letter to the author^ 
" I read your poem with great pleasure. The conceptions are just, 
the sentiments affecting, and the pictures forcible and true. 1 can 
say that I am not particular in this opinion, nor am I bribed to it by 
your indulgence to me, your fellow-labourer in the same cause. Mr. 
Wyndhani, I understand (and he has a judgment not to be deceived 
or corrupted by praise), thinks of your poem as I do. i have the 
honour to be, with the most sincere regard, dear sir, your most 
obliged and most faithful servant, Edmund Burke." 

This poem, though one of his last, and written at an advanced age 
by the author, is one of his best and most vigorous productions. Mr. 
Burke pays him a still higher compliment on his poem of " The 
Shakspeare Gallery." Speaking of the author, he says, " I have not 
for a long time seen any thing so well finished. He has caught new 
jire, by approaching in his perihelium, so near to the sun of our 
poetical system." Dr. Parr was liberal and even profuse in his eulo- 
gium on tliis poem, and more particularly on Mr. Jerningham's poem 
entitled " Enthusiasm," of which he says, " The general plan of the 
work is well formed. The imagery is striking, without glare ; the 
texture of the whole style is easy, without feebleness. Almost all 
the lines flow melodiously. Many of the expressions are wrought up 
to an exquisite pitch of eloquence, and the debate for and against the 
claims of the enthusiasts is conducted at once with the perspicuity of 
argument and the animation of poetry. 

Mr. Jerningham alwa57s experienced a liberal reception from " The 
Monthly Review," through the whole of his poetical life, and no un- 
favourable allusion to him appeared till my late friend Yfilliani 
Gifford wrote a couplet in his poem of " The Baeviad," which shows 
that he certainly was not acquainted with Mr. Jerningham's works, 
for he speaks of him as a pastoral poet, though Mr. Jerningham has 
not one pastoral poem in all his numerous productions. The author 
of " The Pursuits of Literature" also mentioned Mr. Jerningham 
unfavourably in a parody on a line of Pope. Mr. Jerningham 
answered them both with manly spirit, in one of the best of his poems. 
I had the pleasure of bringing Mr. Gifford and Mr. Jerningham toge- 
ther, and of exciting in them kind sentiments towards each other. 

I dare say if Mr. Mathias, whom I have long had the pleasure of 
knowing, was really the author of " The Pursuits of Literature," he, 
upon reflection, would regret that he attacked a brother bard whose 



RECORDS OP MY LEPE. 

political sentiments and principles were the same as his own. Here 
I may say, that in a conversation with Mr. Mathias, who was as well- 
bred a gentleman as I ever knew, referring to the suspicion and the 
report that he was the author of the poem in question, he said to mCj. 
" They will find out their mistake some time or other." Mr. Mathias 
presented his tract to me on the subject of the poems attributed to 
Rowley ; and I think he has fairly and fully proved that, however 
they may have been interpolated by Chatterton, they were not his 
productions. Mr. Mathias's reasoning is perfectly satisfactory, at 
least to me. I understand that this gentleman resides at Naples ire 
good health. I hope he will long enjoy it, for the sake of his friends 
as well as of himself; for his learning, talents, and urbanity must 
render him the subject of respect, esteem, and admiration, to all who 
have the pleasure of knowing him. 

There is so much spirit in Mr. Jerningham's vindication of his 
'poem, and the allusion to Gray's elegy is so apt, that the following: 
extract may be acceptable to the reader : — 

If each bold village Hampden may withstand 
The little tyrant of his little land ; 
May not the Muse with equal right maintain 
The long-earn'd honours of her smalldomain? 
Ye great departed shades ! who, when on earth, 

■ Hail'd with benign applause the Muse's birth ; 
O Chesterfield ! O Chatham's sacred sire 1 
O Gray ! thou lord of the enchanting lyre I 

■ Beneath your fost'ring praise, a lowly Muse 
Smiled, like the flow'rct fed with heavenly dews, 
And shall tliis flow'ret perish in her noon, 
Beneath the duU-ey'd peasant's clouted shoon? 

I have seldom passed so agreeable a day as when I accompanied 
a lady and Mr. Jerningham on a visit to Mr. Pope's villa at Twick- 
enham, before "the spoiler came," and destroyed every vestige of its 
interesting state as left by the poet. A rustic lad, when we entered 
the memorable grotto, pointed to an old deal table, and said with lu- 
dicrous simplicity, " There Mr. Pope used to sit and write a copy of 
verses." There was an impressive solemnity in that part of the 
grounds which was consecrated to the memory of the poet's mother. 
Mr. Jerningham, who had often visited the place, abounded with 
anecdotes of the bard, and with some accounts of his personal habitS;,. 
which he learned from an old boatman who used to convey Mr. Pope 
from Twickenham to Richmond. 

Towards the decline of life, Mr. Jerningham turned his attention to 
religious subjects, but without any tendency to fanaticism. His first 
publication on these subjects was a well- written tract on " The mild 
Tenour of Christianity," which soon passed through a second edition«. 
He paid me the compUment of writing the following manuscript lines^ 
on the blank leaf of the book. 



EDWARD JERNINGHAM, ESQ. 

TO JOHN TAYLOR, ESQ. 

Unvaried friend, through miiny a varying year. 
Indulge the voice that courts religion's muse, 
Nor thou (to virtue as to science dear) 
Thy candid audience to my theme refuse. 

Edward Jerningham, 
March 25, 1807. 

This tract displays extensive reading and research, and is charac- 
terized by the same mild spirit which forms the subject. He also 
published about the same time a translation of " Select Sermons and 
Funeral Orations" from Bossuet, Bishop of Meaus, with an original 
essay on the •' Eloquence of the Pulpit in England." His next w^ork 
was a tract on " The Dignity of Human Nature." The last of his 
religious tracts wjjs entitled " The Alexandrian School ; or a Narra- 
tive of the First Christian Professors in Alexandria." All these tracts 
were liberally received by the periodical critics, and passed through 
several editions. With the last work he again addressed me in man- 
uscript in the following words. " To you, my amiable and long-tried 
friend, I present my little theological tract. They who have written 
half so well as you, will read me with less candour."- If I am accused 
of vanity in having inserted these commendatory passages, I can only 
say that I am proud of such testimonies of friendship from so amiable^ 
intelligent, and learned a character, and have only to regret that I do 
not deserve them.* 

I had not seen Mr. Jerniogham for some time, and at length re- 
ceived a note from him earnestly requesting that I would call on him 
as early as convenient at night, as he had something particular to say 
to me. I of course went, and was shocked to hear that he was 
alarmingly ill. He was in bed, and I attended him in his chamber. 
Conceiving that an illness of some weeks had very much altered his 
person, the curtain was drawn before him that I might not be shocked 
at the change, and I did not see him at this last meeting. He told 
me that he felt death was approaching, and that he had requested my 
presence to take a last farewell. As far as I can recollect, the fol- 
lowing were his last words. 

" I know that when I am no more, you will say something kind of 
my memory, but I am already dead to all the vanities of this worlds 
and what 1 desire is, that you will say I was consistent in my religious 
creed and conduct. I am besieged by some Roman Catholic priestSj, 
who are anxious I should return to their persuasion, and, if there were 
no likelihood of contradiction, they would certainly make no scruple 

* r have above fifty letters whieh I received from Mr. Jerningham, from which I 
might extract many passages so favourable to me that I have not courage enough to- 
insert them in this place. Most of these letters are worthy of public attention, as 
they are characterized by wit, good-humour, taste, descriptive elegance, and moral 
sentiments, as well as by genuine piety. As a critic, in my humble opinion, he was 
acute, profound, and liberal. Speaking of translations in one of his letters to me, he 
says, " Translations are only crutches for those who are lame. I think I should 
express myself better if I were to say, that reading the original is gathering the fruit 
from the tree with all its raciness and flavour." 



RECORDS OP BIY LIFE. 

of asserting that I had done so. They would even think it meritorious 
so to do, for the honour of their religion. All, therefore, that I require 
of you, as the last testimony of friendship, is, to state in your news- 
paper that I took the sacrament on Wednesday last according to the 
rites of the Church of England." He then in the most friendly and 
affecting terms took leave of me, and died on the following day. After 
I left him, he ordered a whole-length dravving of himself to be sent 
to me without delay. I inserted a tribute to his literary and moral 
character in the Sun newspaper, and added all that he had desired 
me to say on tiie consistency -of his religious principles. I sent the 
paper to his nephew, Mr. Edward Jerningham, and apologized for 
having adverted to the subject of his religion, as his creed differed 
from that of his family, declaring that I should not have done so if it 
had not been in compliance with his uncle's last solemn desire. The 
gentleman called on me, to thank me for the tribute which I had paid 
to the memory of his uncle, and readily admitted that I had properly 
discharged the last duty of friendship. 

I wrote to Mr. Combe, whose literary character I have previously 
noticed, and who was one of Mr. Jerningham's oldest friends, to give 
him the unwelcome tidin^rs of his death. The following is his answer. 
*' So Mr. Jerningham has bid us farewell! I was always confident 
that he had virtuo enough, but I was not without an apprehension 
Chat he might want nerve, to meet the awful moment, as I find he did. 
1 am infinitely gratified to hear that he died calm, resigned, and happy. 
But, as old Jeremy Taylor has said, and no man ever did or will say 
what is more applicable to human wants and weakness, or whose 
sentiments are more encouraging or consolatory to our nature, ' When 
God is pleased to send trials, he never fails to send strength.' " 

In addition to the testimonies of Mr. Jerningham's poetical genius 
which I have given, I may properly show in what estimation he was 
held by the late Lord Byron, who, in a note to his vigorous satire, 
entitled " English Bards and Scotch Reviewers," has the following 
passage : " 1 hear that Mr. Jerningham is about to. take up the cudgelas 
for his Maecenas, Lord Carlisle ; I hope not : he was one of the few 
who, in the very short intercourse I had with him, treated me with 
kindness when a boy, and whatever he may say or do, 'pour on, I 
will endure.' " No person was more able to appreciate a character 
than Lord Byron, or less disposed to spare those whom he might 
think deserving of censure ; therefore the submissive respect with 
which he treats Mr. Jerningham, will justify the conclusion that he 
thought highly of his moral qualities, as well as of his poetical powers, 
as he must have been well aware of his rank among the English bards. 

A more affectionate relative than Mr. Jerningham could hardly 
exist. He lived many years with his mother till she died at a very 
advanced age ; and by his tenderness and filial affection, illustrated 
all that his poetical predecessor, Pope, has so beautifully said of his 
own attention to his venerable parent, under the same circumstances. 

In a letter which I received from Mr. Jerningham, at Cossey, dated 
1809, he says, " Since I had the pleasure of seeing you, I have dragged 



EDWARD JERNINGHAM, ESQ. 103 

through a long and melancholy scene. I found my brother (the late 
Sir William Jerningham) at my arrival at Cossey, in a state that 
excluded the least indulgence of hope. A gradual and visible decay, 
at the expiration of five weeks, terminated in his death. If it be a 
salutary thing to go into the house of mourning, I ought to be the 
better for what I have beheld. On Tuesday last, my brother was 
deposited in the vault of the new Gothic Chapel (the first inhabitant 
of that dreary mansion), to take his long repose. I will venture to 
say that, at his resurrection, he will not find himself outdone in acts 
of benevolence by any who may be summoned to the same awful 
tribunal." 

In another letter, received from the same place, dated 1811, he 
■says, " My nephew (the present Lord Stafford) and his wife, who is 
very accomplished, live in a higher rank of splendour than my late 
brother, and equal him, if possible, in all the milder attractions that 
beam from benevolence and generosity." In the same letter he gives 
an interesting account of the manner in which he passed his time. 
Having the indulgence of breakfasting by himself at his own time, he 
enjoyed a long studious morning. He says, "If you ask me what I 
have been reading, I answer that I have seen nothing new, but the 
excellent library here is more than sufficient for the most omnivorous 
appetite. I have had some intercourse with Gibbon. I have read 
all his notes to his history, which show his extensive reading and his 
investigating spirit. I have amused myself with a second perusal of 
Godwin's Chaucer, which contains frequently deep reflections. 
Chaucer is only the text, while the interesting facts of the age are 
made to rally round the poet. St. Bernard's moral discourses have 
been part of my reading. He has warmth and energy, but his Latin 
is inferior to that of Lactantius, of whom I read half a volume last 
year. St. Bernard appears to me to have thought in old French, 
while he wrote in Latin ; but you will think me an old pedantic monk 
if I should proceed, and so I will leave off and begin my walk." 

I cite these passages out of many others of the same description, 
merely for the purpose of showing that Mr. Jerningham was a scholar 
and a critic, as well as a poet. He was a warm and steady friend, 
and to his servants a kind and indulgent master. Some years after 
his death, I heard them speak of him with great respect, gratitude, 
and affection. 

I have dwelt the longer on the memory of Mr. Jerningham, be- 
cause, as I have before said, I consider him one of the most amiable 
characters I ever knew. He was my warm and sincere friend ; to 
him I was indebted for many happy hours, and for much interesting 
and valuable information. No person ever enjoyed a more familiar 
intercourse with the learned world, as well as with the ranks of 
fashion ; and, with a slight alteration, what Pope says of himself in 
his imitation of Horace, Book ii. Sat. 1, is strictly applicable to Mr. 
Jerningham. 

Envy must own I live among the great, 
Jfo tool of jiarty and no spy of state, 



31ECORDS OP MY UFE. 

"With eyes that pry not, tongue that ne'er repeatgj, 
Fond to spread friendships, but to cover heats, 

To help who want, to forward who excel : 
This all who know me know, who love me tell ; 
And who unknown defame me, let them be 
Scribblers or peers, alike are mob to me. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

Charles Townley, Esq. This gentleman was deservedly dis- 
tinguished by a wide circle of learned and elegant connexions, and 
was esteemed one of the best-bred men in the kingdom. He pos- 
sessed a considerable fortune, which he employed in hospitality and 
in patronizing the fine arts. His collection of the works of ancient 
sculpture equalled any of the most celebrated in this country, and 
his doors were liberally opened to all men of taste. I was intro- 
duced to him by the Rev. Mr<EenjQeck, of the British Museum, and 
was afterward invited to see what were generally denominated the 
Townley Marbles ; and a finer collection was, perhaps, never before 
in the hands of a private person. His bust of Clytie, one of the 
most admired remains of Grecian sculpture, enabled him to gratify 
many of his friends, by having plaster casts made from it. It is now 
in all the sculpture shops. Its beautiful, delicate, and pensive ex- 
pression, fully illustrates the fable on which it is founded. 

Mr. Townley was the nephew of the unfortunate gentleman who 
"was beheaded for high treason, and whose head I remember to have 
seen placed upon a pole on the top of Temple Bar. As this exhi- 
bition was painful in no slight degree to Mr. Townley, some of his 
friends, among whom was Mr. Penneck, formed a plan for removing^ 
it; and one night, which happened to be a very windy one, they 
effected their purpose without interruption. No inquiry was made, as 
it was inferred that the head had been blown off' by the storm. Mr» 
Townley had, therefore, the melancholy pleasure of having deposited 
the head in the tomb of his ancestors. Though a Roman CatholiCj. 
Mr. Townley possessed a truly liberal mind, of which the follov.'ing 
fact is a sufficient proof. He had a good benefice in his gift. A Ro- 
man Catholic clergyman of great learning, and of the most amiable 
character. v*'hol]y without a provision, was offered the living, under 
the unavoidable condition of his conforming to the established religion 
of the country. The clergyman, though without the means of sup- 
port, felt conscientious scruples, which he avowed, and seemed dis- 
posed to decline the generous offer. To settle the matter Mr. Pen- 
neck invited Mr. Townley to dinner. The Rev. Mr. Warner, chap- 
lain to Lord Gower when our ambassador to France, just before] 
the breaking out of the revolution, and the Roman Catholic priest, 
were of the party. After dinner the subject was brought forwardi 



CHARLES TOWNLEY, ESQ.— BRYEN THE ACTOR. 

hy Mr. Townley, who observed, that being a layman, though brought 
up in the Roman Catholic faith, he could not be supposed to be suf- 
ficiently conversant with the grounds of difference between the Ro- 
man Catholics and the Protestants to be able to remove the scruples 
•of the priest ; but as the good of mankind was the object of both, and 
as the reverend gentleman was not likely to engage in religious con- 
troversy, but to inculcate the true principles of Christianity, it seemed 
to him that he was better qualified to do justice to the situation than 
any Protestant divine whom he knew. Mr. Penneck followed, and 
avowed the same opinions, and lequested the priest to accept the 
living, to which he did not doubt that he would do credit. At length 
it was Mr. Warner's turn to express his sentiments ; and being a con- 
vivial character, and quite a latitudinarian in matters of religion, he 
proposed that the priest should leave the subject to the discussion of 
his friends, while he took a walk round the museum gardens. The 
priest agreed, and said, " Well, gentlemen, I am duly sensible of your 
kindness, and deeply grateful to Mr. Townley for his generous offer ; 
i leave my honour in your hands, and doubt not that your decision 
will be just." He then retired to the gardens, the gentlemen returned 
to the bottle, and not a word passed on the subject during the priest's 
absence. On his return they told him that they had weighed his scru- 
ples, and having fully canvassed the question, were all agreed that he 
might conscientiously accept the living. He did so, became a favour- 
ite preacher with his congregation, and performed his duties with ex- 
emplary zeal and piety. 

When the late Sir Henry Bate Dudley was appointed an Irish dean, 
a young lady who resided on the spot thus expressed her wish. " Oh ! 
Iiow I long to see our dane. I am told that he is a very handsome 
man, and that he fights like an angel." Sir Henry was certainly a 
handsome, well-formed man, and by his strength and activity was 
properly qualified for pugihstic contests, in which he was always vic- 
torious. 

The lady who rode a thousand miles in a thousand hours on one 
liorse, which forms the subject of an admirable ironical paper in Dr. 
Johnson's " Idler," No. 6, was a Miss Pond. She was the daughter 
of Mr. John Pond, a celebrated dealer in horses, and author of a 
work relating to the turf, very popular at the time. I knew Miss 
Pond very well. I used to meet her at Mrs. Jackson's, in Lyon's 
Inn. Mrs. Jackson was the first wife of my early friend the Rev. 
William Jackson, who was tried for high treason in Dublin, and would 
have suffered capitally if he had not died suddenly in the court, as it 
was supposed from the effects of poison. Miss Pond was advanced 
in life when I knew her. She was tall, and with a good form, by no 
means handsome, but well bred and accomplished. She played very 
well oi> the piano-forte. There was a gravity, and even melancholy 
in her manner, which I was told was the effect of disappointment in 
!ove. It appeared that she was attached to Mr. O'Bryen the actor, 
who is mentioned with praise, even by that stern critic Churchill, in 
liis "Rosciad." Mr. O'Bryen clandestinely married Lady Susan 



106 nECOJlDS OP MY LIPB. 

Strangeways, the daughter of Lord Ilchester, and it is said that im- 
mediately after the nuptial ceremony was performed at St. Paul's, 
Covent Garden, and as the new-married pair were quitting the church- 
door at one end, the father and his party entered at the other to pre- 
vent the union. It was an unfortunate marriage for O'Bryen, except 
that he had an affectionate wife ; for the pride of the family obliged 
him to quit the stage, and an appointment was procured for him in one 
of our West India Colonies, where he remained for many years, de- 
prived of a profession in which he delighted and in which he was ad- 
mired, and remote from his friends, who were some of the first peo- 
ple in this country. He was, I have heard, a fencing-master in Dub- 
lin, or the son of a fencing-master, but with manners so easy and so 
sprightly that he was admitted into the best company, and was a 
member of several of the most fashionable clubs at the west end of 
the town. 

A brother of mine, who died at Calcutta many years ago, and was 
well able to estimate characters, and who knew Mr. O'Bryen, assured 
me that he had never seen any person equal to that gentleman for un- 
affected ease, spirit, and elegance of manners. Mr. O'Bryen pos- 
sessed literary talents. He wrote a comedy, entitled " The Duel," 
partly, I believe, taken from the French ; and a farce, popular at the 
time, entitled " Cross Purposes." 

As Miss Pond is the heroine of one of the papers written by Dr. 
Johnson, she may well be considered worthy of remembrance, and 
of having her name recorded here, as it is not mentioned in any notes 
to " The Idler" that I have seen, or probably in any that were ever 
written. 

Mr. BATTisniLTi. This was an admired musician and composer in 
his day, but a man very careless and dissipated in his conduct. He 
first became known by his music to a ballad entitled " Kate of Aber- 
deen," written by Mr. Cunningham, a poet and an actor well known 
in the provincial theatres of the north, a worthy man, and one of the 
early friends of the late Mr. Shield. I once had the pleasure of in- 
troducing Mr. Battishill and Mr. Shield to each other. They had 
before only known each other by reputation. Battishill was married 
to a very pretty woman, who ran off with Webster, the celebrated 
singer. Battishill married again, and to a plain, decent woman, who 
was not likely to follow the example of her profligate predecessor. 
Poor Battishill was always embarrassed, and had shifted his quarters 
all round the suburbs of the metropolis so often, that he died in ob- 
scurity, and no notice seems to have been taken of the time or place, 
though he was a man of unquestionable merit in his profession. 

To show the careless and convivial disposition of Battishill, as I 
was passing over Blackfriars Bridge one evening, I saw him walking 
before me, and hastening my pace, I tapped him on the back. 
Without turning his head to see who had touched him, he said, " Ah \ 
will you go with me to Jemmy Rowley's ?"— concluding, of course,, 
that 1 was one of his boon companions. Considering his general 



SS. 6HEBBEARE AKD MK. TBTHE RING TON. ' 107 

Btate of embarrassment, it is somewhat singular that he was not rather 
alarmed at a tap on the shoulder. 

. Dr. Shebbeare. I was slightly acquainted with this gentleman^, 
and introduced Dr. Wolcot to him one evening as we returned to 
town after having dined with Dr. Monsey at Chelsea Hospital. We 
dined at the governor's table, as it was then styled, but which has 
long been abolished. We let Dr. Shebbeare have all the talk to him- 
self, as he had once been a distinguished character, and we wished to 
know, so far as we had opportunity of judging, what were his pre- 
tensions to the fame he had acquired. He was loud, positive, loqua- 
cious, and dictatorial. To keep him in good-humour, I spoke in praise 
of his novel, entitled " Lydia, or Filial Piety," which I had read in 
my early days, and which 1 recollected with pleasure ; and this notice 
of his work induced him to say that he had lately called on a friend,, 
•who not being at home, he took up a book which he found upon the 
table, and opened it in the middle. After reading some pages, he 
said he found the " author's train of thought" (such was his expression) 
so congenial to his own, that he turned to the title-page, and found it 
was actually his own w^ork, of which 1 had been speaking. This state- 
ment was evidently a falsehood, for the work deals little in reflection,, 
and it was impossible for him to have read a single page without 
meeting the names of some of the characters of which the work 
consisted. 

I never read his " Letters to the English Nation," which contained 
the libel for which he was sentenced to the pillory. From respect to 
his function as a clergyman, he was, as 1 have heard, permitted to 
stand upon the board, instead of putting his head through the holCo 
During the hour while he stood, there was a very hard rain, and 
an Irish chairman held an umbrella over him all the time. When 
the punishment ended, he gave the man half-a-crown. " Whatj^ 
no more, plase your honour ?" said the man. *' Why you stood 
but an hour," said the doctor, "and surely that is enough." "Ay» 
but consider the disgrace, plase your honour," rejoined the man, and 
the doctor, far from being offended, gave him a guinea for his humour. 
This trait of the doctor's temper is the most favourable anecdote I 
ever heard of him. His son was a clergyman of the Church of Eng- 
land, a very respectable character, and a great admirer of music. 

Mr. Tetiieria'gton. This person I have met in private and in^ 
tavern parties. He was an Irishman, and chiefly know'n at gaming- 
tables, and places of a similar description. I have heard that when 
he first came from Dublin, he afiTected great simplicity, and the per- 
sons in general with whom he associated, expected to find him so easy 
a dupe, that he went by the name of " The Child ;" but it soon ap- 
peared, to use their language, that he was " a deep one," and more 
than a match for all of them, as they found to their cost. He, how- 
ever, retained the name of " The Child." He had more of that mode 
of speaking which is styled slang than any man I ever met with, not 
excepting Hewerdine, whom I have mentioned in another place^ 
As I was once returning late with Dr. Wolcot from a company with 



108 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

whom we had passed the night, we met Tetherington, who was so' 
tipsy that he hardly knew me, but notwithstanding his convivial state, 
all he said was, " Will you go and have a booze ?" We, however, 
declined the overture, and wished him good-night. J^e had an agree- 
able person ; and an actress of merit on the London stage was so 
attached to him, that she relinquished a good situation to live with 
him, and thereby lost her reputation, and finally sank into dejection 
and ruin. 

The late Mr. Levi^is, the great comic actor and the unaffected gen- 
lleman, told me the following anecdote of Mr. Tetherington. An 
-elephant was brought to Dublin, and as it was the only one that had 
<ever been seen in Ireland, the proprietor charged a crown for the 
sight. Tetherington, who wanted to see, but was not inclined to 
pay, hastily entered the place, exclaiming in a hurry, " Where's your 
elephant? "What! is that him? Turn him about: Lord, how he 
stinks ! — I can't stay any longer ;" and, holding his nose while he 
littered this complaint, he as hastily left the place as he had entered/ 
and the keeper was afraid to stop him and demand payment, lest he 
should bring a disgrace upon the animal, and lessen its attraction. 
If this story had reached London before Tetherington, he might have 
been deemed, in the words of Pope upon Gay, " in wit a man," 
rather than " in simplicity a c/w'ZfZ." 

CoAN, the dv/arf. This man is mentioned by Churchill in his 
^' Rosciad ;" speaking of Barry, who was very tall, he says, 

While to six feet the vig'rous stripling grown, 
Declares that Garrick is another Coan. , 

Coan hved at the house of one of the Pinchbecks : of these there 
were three brothers, all of whom were acquainted with my father. 
They had invented the metal which went by their name, and to 
attract public attention they pretended to quarrel, and advertised 
against each other, all claiming the invention, and proclaiming the 
superiority of the article in which each of them dealt. They were, 
however, upon the most amiable footing in reality, and used to meet 
every night and divide the profits of the day. The metal had lost 
its popularity when I used to accompany my father to visit his 
patients, and he generally called on them as he passed their way. 

In my time one of the Pinchbecks kept the toy and rarity shop in 
Cockspur-street, and was patronised by King George the Third, who 
was fond of ingenious curiosities ; another was a pawnbroker, in 
West Smithfield; and the third was landlord of a coffee-house and 
tavern in Five Fields, Chelsea. With him resided Coan the dwarf, 
whose portrait w^as the sign of the tavern. 

I remember being with my father at this tavern, of which Coan 
was the principal attraction. I was about twelve years old, and 
Coan was shorter in stature than myself He walked to and fro in 
the room conversing with great ease and spirit with my father, upon 
public affairs, I presume. The notice which Coan excited, and the 



AflSCBLLANEOUS ANECDOTES. iOSl 

familiar vivacity of his manner, I well remember mortified me, as I 
was left by myself in one of the boxes without notice, though I 
thought that, as I was taller than he, I was entitled to as much atten- 
tion, overlooking entirely the difference of our ages. As well as I 
can possibly recollect the events of so distant a period, Coan, at the 
time when I saw him, was about forty years of age, and an intelli- 
gent, observing, and reflecting person. My father, who was a man 
of sense, wit, and discernment, represented him to me in that light* 
I shall conclude this chapter with a few anecdotes. 

The late king, when Prince of Wales, gave a magnificent fete at 
Carlton House, and for a few days after persons having previously 
obtained tickets were permitted to see the tables and the adjoining 

rooms of that palace. Lady W complained bitterly to Colonel 

Bloomfield that her husband was not invited. The colonel attempted 
to sooth the lady, observing, his royal highness had so many persons 
to invite, that, to avoid giving offence to any, it had been deemed ex- 
pedient to follow the alphabet for the order of names, but the com- 
pany was found to be complete before the list reached down to W» 
^' Pooh, pooh !" said the lady, "don't tell me, for I dare say there 
were many Ws there." 

Mr. Pitt went one evening into the late Duchess of Gordon's bos: 
at the Opera-house. Not having seen him for some time, she ad- 
dressed him with her usual blunt familiarity. " Well, Mr. Pitt, do 
you talk as much nonsense as you did v.^hen I last saw you ?" — " I 
know not that," said Mr. Pitt, " but I have certainly not heard so 
much nonsense since I had last the pleasure of seeing your grace." 

During war-time, a member of parliament arose in the House of 
Commons, and proposed that the militia should not be ordered out 
of the kingdom. Mr. Pitt immediately arose, and with sarcastic 
smile, said, " Except in case of invasion." 

Dignum was once performing one of the dumb nobles in the play 
of King Henry the Eighth, and hearing in praise of Cardinal Wolsey's 
learning, " V/itness those twins, Ipswich and Oxford," colleges which 
the cardinal had founded ; Dignum whispered his brother noble on 
the stage, observing that he never knew the cardinal had been mar- 
ried, and asking if the twins were his natural children. 

Dk. Johnson. I hold in reverence the character of this great 
man, but as he was avowedly attached to the Stuart family, there 
can be no harm in illustrating his sentiments by a fact. Dr. Monsey 
assured me that he had once been in company where the conversa- 
tion turned upon the age of our late excellent monarch George the 
Third. Johnson was present, and suddenly exclaimed, " Pooh, what 
does it signify when such an animal was born, or whether he had 
ever been born at all ?" — " Yet," added Monsey, " I have lived to 
see that man accept a pension from the king whom he thus affected 
to despise." 

BucKHORSE. This man was one of the lower order of boxers ; 
hie used to frequent the schools of Westminster and Eton, and would 
let the scholars hit him as hard as thev could, even on the face, for a 

F " 



RECORDS OP M¥ LIFE. 

shilling. He used to sell little switches for boys, which he styled 
jemmies. I remember to have seen him towards the end of his life, 
when he was a poor decrepit creature. He had only one eye, but 
I suppose he had lost the other in early life, for there is a print from 
a picture by a painter of that time, named Collins, representing two 
females fighting, and Buckhorse appears to be taking part in the con- 
test, and seems to have been a stout man. Buckhorse was once so 
notorious that two volumes were published entitled " Memoirs of the 
noted Buckhorse," but I suppose they were merely the vehicle of 
humour or of political satire. I never read them, and when I.wanted 
to obtain them, they seemed to have been expunged from the circu 
lating libraries. 

Emery, the actor, whom I well knew, was a man of talents and 
of worth, but too much devoted to convivial enjoyments. He was 
excellent in rustic characters, and indeed so plain, simple, and cor-" 
rect in performing them, that he did not seem to be acting. He was 
a good musician, and also an artist. Finding that I had supported 
him in the public press before I knew him, when I became ac- 
quainted with him he presented mewith a landscape drawn by him- 
self in water-colours, and framed and glazed, which he would not 
suffer me to refuse. 



CHAPTER XV. 

Thomson, the poet. The merit of this poet is universally acknow- . 
ledged, and therefore all eulogiums on his works are unnecessary 5 
but the character of these and the conduct of his life were essen- 
tially different. Nobody could describe the excellences of the female 
character with more delicacy than he has done ; but as a man of gal- 
lantry, if such a denomination may be applied to him, his taste was 
of the most vulgar description. My friend Mr. Donaldson, whom I 
have previously mentioned, resided at Richmond when Thomson 
lived at the same place, and v/as very intimate with him, as may> 
easily be supposed, for Mr. Donaldson was a scholar, a poet, and ai 
wit. Thomson, speaking of Musidora, says, that she possessed 

A pure ingenuous elegance of soul, 
A delicate refinement known to few.. 



¥et Mr. Donaldson assured me, that when once in company withi 
Thomson, and several gentlemen were speaking of the fair sex in a ! 
sensual manner, Thomson expressed his admiration of them in morej 
beastly terms than any of the company, and such as, though I well 
remember, I do not think proper to preserve. V.-^lf^"^'-' '*' | 

Th€ most extraordinary fact in the history of this excellent poet I 



THOMSON THE POET. Ill 

derived from my late friend Mr. George Chalmers, whose industry, 
research, and learning are well known. It was Mr. Chalmers's in- 
tention to write the life of Thomson, but whether to introduce into 
his elaborate work, " Caledonia," or not, I do not recollect ; he told 
me, however, the following remarkable fact, on which he assured me 
I might confidently depend. Mr. Chalmers had heard that an old 
housekeeper of Thomson's was alive and still resided at Richmond. 
Having determined to write a life of the celebrated poet of his coun^ 
try, he went to Richmond, thinking it possible he might obtain some 
account of the domestic habits of the poet, and other anecdotes which 
might impart interest and novelty to his narration. lie found that 
the old housekeeper had a good memory, and was of a communica- 
tive turn. She informed him Thomson had been actually married 
in early life, but that his wife had been taken by him merely for her 
person, and was so little calculated to be introduced to his great 
friends, or indeed his triends in general, that he had kept her in a 
state of obscurity for many years, and when he at last, from some 
compunctious feelings, required her to come and live with him at 
Richmond, he still kept her in the same secluded state, so that she 
appeared to be only one of the old domestics of the family. At 
length his wife, experiencing little of the attention of a husband, 
though otherwise provided with every thing that could make her 
easy, if not comfortable, asked his permission to go for a few weeks 
to visit her own relations in the north. Thomson gave his consent, 
exacting a promise that she would not reveal her real situation to any 
of his or her own family. She agreed, but when she had advanced 
no farther on her journey than to London, she was there taken ill, 
and in a short time died. The news of her death was immediately 
conveyed to Thomson, who ordered a decent funeral, and she was 
buried, as the old housekeeper said, in the church-yard of old Mary- 
lebone church. 

Mr. Chalmers, who was indefatigable in his inquiries, was not 
satisfied with the old woman's information, but immediately went 
and examined the church register, where he found the following 
entry — " Died, Mary Thomson, a stranger" — in confirmation of the 
housekeeper's testimony. My late worthy friend Mr. Malone, I 
doubt not, would not have been satisfied with this simple register, 
but would have pursued the inquiry till he had discovered all the 
family of Mary Thomson, the time of the marriage, and every thing 
that could throw a light on this mysterious event, important and 
interesting only as it relates to a poet who will always be con- 
spicuous in the annals of British literature. Thus we find that the 
letter from Thomson to his sister, accounting for his not having 
married, which is inserted in all the biographical reports of Thomson, 
is fallacious, and that his concealment of his early marriage was the 
result of pride and shame, when he became acquainted with Lady 
Hertford, Lord Lyttelton, and all the high connexions of his latter 
days. 

Mr. Boswell, in his ever-amusing, and I may add instructive iifo cf 

F3 



112 ItECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

Dr. Johnson, says, "My own notion is, that Thomson was a much 
coarser man than his friends are willing to allow. His ' Seasons' are 
indeed full of elegant and pious sentiments, animated by a poetic and 
philosophic spirit ; yet a rank soil, nay, a dunghill, will produce 
beautiful flowers." Boswell never knew Thomson, but the report of 
the poet's surviving friends, who would not suppress the truth, fully 
confirms the account of Mr. Donaldson, who was personally intimate 
with the bard. 

Mr. Chalmers, finding that the old housekeeper retained some of 
the furniture which had belonged to Thomson, purchased his break- 
fast-table, some old-fashioned salt-cellars and wine-glasses. I had 
the pleasure of drinking tea with Mr. Chalmers on that table. I 
mentioned this circumstance to Dr. Wolcot, who told me that if I 
had any poetry in my nature I should write an ode on the subject ; 
and in conformity with this hint, I wrote the stanzas which will be 
found in one of my printed volumes. 

Mr. George Chalmers. With this gentleman I had the pleasure 
of being acquainted many years. He was a native of Scotland, and 
his accent strongly indicated his country. He was one of the most 
indefatigable writers ever engaged in literature. He had been con- 
cerned in business in America, and had seen much of the world. 
Though no man was better qualified to examine evidence, and 
though so laborious in investigation, and anxious for truth,^ yet he 
seemed on particular opcasions to have been somewhat too credulous. 
For instance, he conceived that a young Irishman, named Hugh Boyd, 
was the author of the celebrated Letters of Junius, though many 
reasons may be given whiCh might be deemed conclusive against his 
opinion and apparently confident belief The internal evidence of 
the letters may be deemed a satisfactory proof that they could not . 
have been written by a young man; and the edition of Juniusl 
published by Mr. George Woodfall, the son of the original publisher,! 
shows that Junius wrote to " The Public Advertiser" under a different^ 
signature, before he adopted and adhered to that of Junius, and con- 
sequently as Hugh Boyd was then younger, he may reasonably be , 
supposed to have been less qualified by his time of hfe for the 
composition of letters that are characterized by deep knowledge of 
mankind, leai'ning, and extensive acquaintance with political subjects. 

I have the pleasure of being acquainted with a daughter of Hugh 
Boyd, and from all she has informed me of the disposition of her 
father, it is difiiicult to suppose that a man of his mild, pacific, and 
benevolent character, could have written with so much vehemence, 
acrimony, and venom, as appear in those letters. Her brother, whoi 
is a profound scholar and a very elegant poet, as far as I could learn 
from Miss Boyd, did not appear to think his father was the author of 
" Junius." It is by no means improbable, that had Mr. Chalmers seen 
this last edition of " Junius," with all the private letters to the elder 
Mr. Woodfall, from Junius, under various signatures, he would have 
relinquished his conviction that Hugh Boyd was the author, and with 
€qual zeal have given another direction to his Researches ; as ha 



Sir. GEORGE CHALMERS — ^MR. GERARD HAMILTON. IIS 

"Would have been convinced that Hugh Boyd had neither experience 
nor opportunity to derive information sufficient for the composition 
of these letters. 

Mr. Chalmers was at first a believer in Ireland's fabrications of the 
pretended " Shakspeare Papers," but was ensnared with many other 
learned and able men. However, on farther inquiry and reflection 
he recanted, and appeared to greater advantage than those who 
originally doubted : for some of the most hostile opponents would 
not even inspect the specious documents, displaying prejudice rather 
than caution ; Mr. Chalmers, on the contrary, fairly stated his 
grounds for belief, and supported them by such arguments as justified 
those who had at first confided in the validity of the imposition. 

Although so zealous and persevering an inquirer, Mr. Chalmers 
was, however,4nclined to retain his opinion respecting Hugh Boyd ; 
for he assured me, a gentleman who had met Boyd in the East 
Indies positively told him that Boyd had acknowledged to him that 
he was really the author of " Junius," though he had reasons for not 
divulging the secret while he was in England. It is hardly possible 
to conceive that so shrewd and intelligent a man as Mr. Chalmers 
should have placed any confidence in such a testimony. How many 
persons are there in the world who would confess themselves to be 
Junius, if they thought any reliance would be placed on their declara- 
tion ! The Rev. Mr. Rozenhagen was one of the rumoured candi- 
dates for that honour ; and so wide and confident was the report, 
that my ingenious friend Mr. James Sayers, the author of " Elijah's 
Mantle," so erroneously attributed to Mr. Canning, published an 
etching of Mr. Rozenhagen, with a paper half out of his pocket, on 
which was inscribed the word Junius. 

The story relating to Mr. Gerard Hamilton, generally styled 
single-speech Hamilton, and the Duke of Richmond, though well 
known may be repeated in this place. It seems that Mr. Hamilton 
had called on Mr. Sampson Woodfall, who in the confidence of 
friendship had shown him a letter from Junius, which Mr. Woodfall 
said was to appear in " The Public Advertiser" next day. Mr. 
Hamilton called on the Duke of Richmond the following mornings 
and relying on what Mr. Woodfall had said, informed his grace that 
there was a letter from Junius in " The Public Advertiser" of that 
day, repeating as much as he recollected of its contents. As soon as 
Mr. Hamilton left his grace, the duke sent immediately for " The 
Public Advertiser," but by some accident the letter was not published, 
and instead of it there was an apology from the printer for being 
obliged to postpone it to the following day. This circumstance 
inaturally induced the duke to suspect Hamilton to be Junius, and 
hence the report gained ground that he was really the author. 
Hamilton, however, resolutely denied that he had any concern in the 
letters ; and in order to avert what he affected to consider a 
degrading imputation, he even spoke of them as literary compositions 
of little value. 

Another circumstance which tended to diffuse the suspicion that 



114 RECORDS OF MT LIFE. j 

Hamilton was the author occurred at Brooks's club. The subject of 
conversation turned on Junius's letters, in one of the rooms at that 
celebrated resort of the opposition wits, and Charles Fox, whose 
voice was shrill and piercing, spoke very lightly of them. The 
adjoining room was open, and whoever was there might easily hear 
all that passed in the other. It happened that Hamilton was the 
only person in the adjoining room during this conversation, and it 
was therefore probable he had heard what passed. Hamilton and 
Fox had previously been upon very friendly terms, but it was 
observed that from that day he behaved towards Fox with great 
coolness, and sometimes seemed purposely to avoid him. This fact, 
coupled with what happened at the Duke of Richmond's, induced 
many of the members of Brooks's club to believe that Hamilton was 
really Junius. 1 learned this story from my friend Joe Richardson, 
who was a member of the club. Perhaps among all the persons to 
•whom the reputation of Junius has been attributed, no coincidence 
of events has brought the suspicion so near to any individual as to 
Hamilton. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

Mr. Arthur Murphy. It was no slight advantage to me toj 
have known this gentleman intimately for many years, as I derived; 
much knowledge of the world from his sagacity and experience.; 
Ho person was better acquainted with mankind. I observed him 
attentively and studied his character. In the earlier part of his life, 
1 understood he had the reputation of being remarkably well-bred, 
insomuch that he was said to have realized Dr. Johnson's notion of 
a fine gentleman. However, when I first became acquainted with 
him, he had contracted something of Johnson's positive, though not,; 
his dictatorial manner. 

The chief reason why the doctor thought Mr. Murphy so well-bred ; 
was, that he never ventured to oppose his opinions directly, but 
covertly expressed his own. If Johnson dogmatically urged an argu- 
ment to which Murphy did not agree, the latter used to say, " But, 
doctor, may it not be said in answer" — and then stated his own 
opinion. " Yes, sir," replied Johnson, sometimes, *' it may, by a fool ;" ■ 
and sometimes with more courtesy, " Yes, sir, but with more plausi-ii 
bility than truth." On other occasions, when Johnson was vehement 
in delivering his sentiments, Mr. Murphy used to say, " I think, doctor, 
a French author, much esteemed, was not of your opinion. He says, 
as well as I remember" — and then Mr. Murphy again covertly de-l 
livered his own opinions. The doctor's answer was generally, "Well, 
sir, the French literati are a learned and intelligent body, and their 
©pinions should not be hastily rejected." By these means Mr. 



Mn. AllTHUR MURPHY. 115 

Murphy declared that the doctor was prevented from ever having 
answered him with direct rudeness on any occasion, though Mr. 
Murphy never servilely submitted to his dictates. 

Mr. Murphy told me that his respect for Johnson induced him to 
have recourse to these expedients, and that even when he perfectly 
agreed with him, he used to adopt the same plan, in order to see how 
far the doctor was able to press and illustrate his arguments. Bos- 
well, with all his subserviency to Johnson, sometimes opposed him so 
bluntly, and consequently suffered under the doctor's formidable re- 
bukes to such a degree, that Mr. Murphy said he had seen him leave 
the room in tears. Mr. Cooke, the old barrister, described the tre- 
mendous force of Johnson's reproofs in the same manner, and used 
to add that there was no living with him without implicit submission. 
Fortunately for Johnson, Murphy was intimately connected with the 
Thrale family, to whom he introduced the doctor, who, in conse- 
quence, passed many of his years under their kind protection. 

Mr. Murphy could not bear to recollect that he had ever been on 
the stage, and I remember to have been present when he was read- 
ing a sketch of his life, in a periodical work entitled " The Monthly 
Mirror;" coming to the passage which alluded to his acting, he 
passed it over with a peevish interjection, and proceeded to the rest 
of the article. He was^ most brutally treated by Churchill, who, in- 
deed, paid no respect to persons if they happened to differ from him 
in politics. Murphy, however, at length answered him and other 
enemies in a vigorous poem, v/hich excited the approbation of Dr. 
Johnson. 

Mr. Murphy was too apt to quarrel v/ith theatrical managers and 
booksellers, and this he did with Garrick, whom he idolized as an ac- 
tor, but certainly never liked as a man. It is strange that when he 
mentioned Garrick, it was always in the following manner : " Off the 
stage he was a little sneaking rascal, but on the stage, oh, my great 
God !" I have heard him utter these words several times during 
the same evening without any variation. 

The .original ground of difference arose from Garrick's having 
promised to bring forward Murphy's first play, "The Orphan of 
China," and then rejected it. Owing, however, to the friendly inter- 
position of Lord Holland, the father of Charles Fox, the play wasp 
represented, and with great success, Garrick performing the chief 
character. Mr. Murphy, in his " Life of Garrick," relates a kind 
artifice which Lord Holland adopted to obtain Garrick's consent. 
In that "Life" he speaks with great respect of Garrick's private 
character, though he mentioned him so harshly in conversation. 

Another ground of difference between them arose from the suc- 
cess of the admirable farce of " High Life Below Stairs." Murphy 
had presented a farce to Garrick on the same subject, and said he 
was convinced that Garrick borrowed the plot from his farce, but, 
fearful of his resentment, induced Mr. Townley, one of the Masters 
of Merchant Tailors' School, to appear as the author. If that, how- 
ever, was really the fact, why did not Murphy publish his own farce> 



116 RECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

as he never was accustomed to suppress his resentments, except, per- 
haps, that Garrick had improved so much on the original conception, 
that he did not think proper to hazard the comparison ? 

Mr. Murphy was a hberal admirer of other writers. He told me 
that he was formerly a constant visiter at a bookseller's shop at the 
Mews-gate, kept by Mr. Paine, whose son is now in partnership with 
Mr. Foss, in Pall Mall. He further assured me, that his chief reason 
for frequenting that place, which was the principal resort of literary 
characters at the time, had been to listen to the conversation of Dr^ 
Akenside, while he himself pretended to be reading a book. He 
said that nothing could be more delightful than the poet's conversa- 
tion. I asked him if he ever became acquainted with him, and he 
answered in the negative. I then asked him why he had not endeav- 
oured to make himself known to so eminent a man, as he was him- 
self a scholar, and well known as a dramatic writer. " Oh !" said 
he, " I had only written farces, and the doctor would not have con- 
descended to notice me." This modest delicacy shows that he had 
no overweening confidence in his own powers. He assured me that 
he had read " The Pleasures of Imagination" twenty-three times, and 
always with new pleasure. 

Mr. Murphy was the translator of Marmontel's " Belisarius." He 
received the original, sheet by sheet, from Paris, and the translation 
was published in London as soon as the original appeared in that 
capital. During the French revolution, and the threatening progress 
of French principles in this country, Mr. Murphy published a trans- 
lation of Sallust's " History of Catiline's Conspiracy, with the four 
Orations of Cicero." This work he dedicated to the Earl of Laud- 
erdale, who was then a very conspicuous character in public. The 
dedication severely animadverts upon his lordship's political conduct,, 
and there are many notes and illustrations of the same tendency,. 
My late friend Mr. John Gilford, the magistrate, addressed letters to> 
Lord Lauderdale about the same period, and they form a masterly 
examination of his lordship's political character and conduct. 

Murphy published his translation of Sallust under the name of 
George Frederick Sydney, and dated it from Bristol, conceiving that 
such an appellation had a true British sound ; but a whimsical cir- 
cumstance occurred, for a person of that name called upon the pub- 
lisher, and remonstrated with.him on the liberty he had taken in affix- 
ing his name to the work. 

Mr. Murphy's translation of " Tacitus" is well known, and, I be- 
lieve, generally approved. He used to style it " a jail-delivery of 
Tacitus from Gordon." He might probably have received a liberal 
recompense if he had dedicated this work to the Marquis of Lans- 
down, who was conspicuous in the political world at the time, having 
received a hint to that effect from his lordship ; but he determined,, 
though then in a situation which v/ould have rendered a pecuniary 
supply peculiarly acceptable, to dedicate it to his old friend Edmund 
Burke. He presented me with a copy of that work, and also with 
his " Life of Johnson," as well as his translation of Sallust. Th© 



MR. ARTHUR MURPnY, 117 

latter work was published in the year 1795. The following passage 
in his dedication to Lord Lauderdale is worth extraction. " The 
French, my lord, are under great obligations to the present oppo-^ 
sition : it is not known that they are willing to treat, and yet motion 
after motion is made to force his majesty's ministers to sue for peace 
to a people who are still in a state of anarchy. It is a maxim of 
Livy, the great Roman historian, that war is preferable to a bad 
peace: Miseram pacem vel hello bene mutari: but the present war, 
your lordship says, is likely to be attended with some dreadful disas- 
ter. For this reason, two notable opinions are assigned : first, because 
the French have superior skill in ship-building : secondly, because we 
have seen that the want of saltpetre can be supplied by exertion. 
Without entering into a discussion of these points, it will be sufficient 
to say, that some of the best ships in the British navy were built in 
France ; and as to the second assertion, Lord Howe, Admiral Hotham, 
Sir John Borlase Warren, Sir Edward Fellew, and other gallant 
officers, have proved, if the French have saltpetre, that they do not 
know how to use it." 

After Mr. Murphy had quitted the bar, and resigned his first 
commissionership of bankrupts, he lived in retirement and neglect. 
He was always improvident in money matters, and at one time his 
chief means of support were founded on the expectation of selling 
the copyright of a complete collection of his works, and his trans- 
lation of Tacitus. In this situation he found it necessary to dispose 
of a part of his valuable library ; and here I must relate an incident 
of an affecting kind, at which I was present. He called upon the 
late Mr. Coutts, the eminent banker, in the Strand, and tendered a 
part of his library to that gentleman for three hundred pounds. Mr. 
Coutts told him that he had no time for books, and did not want to 
buy more than he had ; but said, " It shall make no difference to you, 
Mr. Murphy, as you shall find when you take this down to the office," 
presenting him with a draft for that sum. Mr. Murphy was so over- 
come by his feehngs, that, after taking a grateful leave of Mr. Coutts, 
he hurried to the Sun office, in the Strand, and entered the room 
where Mr. Heriot, then principal proprietor of the Sun newspaper, 
Mr. Freehng, now Sir Francis, and myself were present. He en- 
tered the room hastily, with the draft in his hand, and his eyes full of 
tears, and related this generous act of Mr. Coutts. Mr. Freeling 
was then a stranger to Mr. Murphy, whose gratitude was so strong 
that he was unable to suppress or control it. Mr. Murphy afterward, 
as some return to Mr. Coutts for this act of kindness, dedicated his 
Life of Garrick to him, with suitable expressions of esteem, respect, 
and gratitude. 

Mr. Jesse Foot, in his " Life of Murphy," says, " For the last seven 
years he was far removed from want. A legacy of one thousand 
pounds, from his relation Mrs. Ford, came very acceptably. His ap- 
pointment as commissioner of bankrupts, and his sale of ' The Life 
of Garrick' followed. His generous allowance from Mrs. Plunkett 
followed that, and lastly came his pension from the crown." When 

F3 



118 RECORDS OF MY £.IFE. 

Mr. Murphy was placed in this comfortable situation, I had the pleas- 
ure of dining with him, in company with Mr. Foot and a few friends, 
at the Prince of Wales's Tavern, in the vicinity of Sloane-street. 
Before dinner he read to us the conclusion of " The Life of Garrick," 
in which, in a masterly manner, he has reviewed his character as a 
manager, an actor, an author, and a private gentleman, paying in all 
the highest tribute to his memory. 

I cite the following passage from Mr. Foot's life referring to this 
occasion : — " I never shall forget that when the chief of the company 
had departed, he, Mr. Taylor, and ^myself took a tarn into Sloane- 
street, just as the full moon appeared above the horizon, and without 
preparing us at all for it, he threw himself into a fine dramatic atti- 
tude, and recited in the most impressive manner Pope's description 
of the moon of Homer." 

I remember being as much struck as Mr. Foot was at the grand 
and graceful manner in which Mr. Murphy recited this beautiful pas- 
sage ; and if I were to judge from it of his powers as an actor, I 
should conclude that Churchill's description of his theatrical talents 
was the mere effusion of political malignity. He was an admirable 
reader, as I had a good opportunity of knowing, for he invited me to 
dine with him Ute-a-Uie at Hammersmith, and read to me one of his 
manuscript tragedies ; and without the least pomp or affectation, he 
appeared to me to be able to do justice to any author in theatrical 
performance. His voice was firm and well-toned, and capable of 
adapting itself to every change of passion, particularly as his figure in 
the meridian of life must have been lofty and commanding. It is 
evident that he thought he possessed talents for the stage, as he 
adopted the theatrical profession at the time when Garrick was in the 
meridian of his powers, and the object of Murphy's highest admi- 
ration. Wedderburne must have been intimate with him during the 
time that he was on the stage, as may be inferred from Churchill's 
having described the former as 

The pert, prim prater of the northern race, 
Guilt in his heart, and famine in his face. 

He was mentioned in " The Rosciad" as the advocate for Mr. Mur- 
phy in his pretensions to the theatrical chair. Wedderburne, when 
he became Lord Loughborough and lord-chancellor, appointed 
Murphy commissioner of bankrupts, which office after some years 
he resigned, but not being prosperous in other pursuits, he applied 
for it again and was reinstated. 

It is to be regretted that his lordship did not appoint him a master 
in chancery, as the noble lord knew how careless he was in money 
matters, for he was well qualified for the situation, and then he would 
have had a comfortable provision for life. His third appointment as 
commissioner of bankrupts, after he had twice resigned the situation, 
was given to him by Lord Eldon ; and when he tendered his third 
resignation to that nobleman, his lordship advised him in a kind letter 
lo retain it, observing that no doubt some of his brother commis- 



MR. ARTHUR 3IURPHY. 119 

stoners would relieve him in its duties, and adding that he should 
take no notice of his resignation unless he repeated it. Mr. Murphy 
did so, and then devoted himself wholly to literary pursuits.* 

During this period of retirement he used when in town to sleep at 
Old Slaughter's Coffee-house, where Holman, Morton, Reynolds, 
Fawcett, and myself, often assembled at night. One evening, when 
we were full of mirth and nonsense, Mr. Murphy, who was in a box 
at the other end of the room, joined us, and of course, out of respect 
to him, the party would have restrained their wild gayety,'but that the 
irresistible force of habit prevented. Puns and satirical attacks upon 
each other constituted the conversation, which Mr. Murphy bore 
patiently for some time. At length he said, " 1 don't like this push- 
pin work ; let us have something rational." Finding us however 
incorrigible, he grew peevish, and when I said, " Ah, Mr. Murphy, 
you and I have passed some happy hours, different from these," he 
said vehemently, " Never, sir !" and hastily withdrew to bed. We 
all agreed to meet together on the follow^ing night, but, unwilling to 
annoy him again with our levity, we determined to assemble at New 
Slaughters Coffee-house ; when however we met, there we found 
Mr, Murphy, who had come there to avoid, us. He kept at a distance 
till he had taken a candle and w^as going to bed ; he however came 
up to our box, as if to bid us good night, and I having said, " Mr. 
Murplr/, you are treating us lightly" pointing to the candle, he 
abruptly left us, and we heard him saying to himself all the way up 
the stairs, " Treating them lightly — treating them lightly !" 

In contrast to this sportive folly, I may mention a coffee-house ad- 
venture relating to Mr. Murphy, %vhich, according to report, had a 
melancholy termination. A Mr. Fazakerly was one evening in com- 
pany with Mr. Jesse Foot, and other gentlemen, in a box at Jack's 
Coffee-house in Dean-street, Soho, contiguous to Mr. Foot's resi- 
dence. Mr. Fazakerly introduced the subject of Mr. Murphy, and 
spoke contemptuously of his talents. Mr. Foot warmly advocated 
his friend, as a scholar and able dramatic writer. The controversy 
produced high words, and Mr. Foot left the box, but, as he was 
going, Mr. Fazakerly made use of some opprobrious epithet. Mr. 
Foot suddenly stopped, and asked him if he applied the word to him 
or to Mr. Murphy ? Mr. Fazakerly answered equivocally, and Mr. 
Foot then retorted some opprobrious epithet on him ; Mr. Fazakerly 
immediately left the box, and a scuffle ensued, in which Mr. Foot 
knocked him down, and kept him on the ground, saying, " I am a 
professional man, and do not choose to be disiigured ; 1 therefore will 
not let you get up unless you promise not to strike me, but to end the 
quarrel in a more gentlemanly manner." Mr. Fazakerly made the 
promise, then arose and returned to his box. Mr. Foot went to his 

* I have satisfactory reasons for believing that Lord Sidmouth, to smooth the de- 
clining days of Mr. Murphy, procured a pension for him, as a steady friend and 
zealous supporter of our unrivalled constitution, but to what amount I have not 
heard. It was but a just reward for learning and talents always employed for th» 
amusement of the public or the interest of the country. 



120 BECORDS OF MY LIPE. 

home in the same street, and expecting a hostile message the next 
day, was prepared to receive it, and immediately requested a gentle- 
man named Leigh to be his second. A full week, however, passed 
before Mr. Foot heard from his opponent, but then received a chal- 
lenge. He consulted some friends, among others a military officery 
and they all agreed that as Mr. Foot had been kept so many days in 
suspense, he had a right to refuse a challenge which had been so 
long withheld. This opinion of his friends he conveyed to his adver- 
sary, of whom he heard no more, but that he had gone into the^ 
country, and finding the story had reached the neighbourhood, and 
made an impression unfavourable to him, had sunk into dejection^ 
and after a few days, during which his depression increased, had died 
suddenly. Such was the report. Mr. Foot always spoke of him; 
with respect and regret, as a learned, intelligent, and worthy man ;. 
and appeared deeply to lament the unhappy difference that took 
place between them. 

Mr. Murphy once proposed that we should write periodical essays 
together, in the manner of his own " Gray's Inn Journal," that we 
might, as he said, be " a kind of Beaumont and Fletcher." I assured 
him that I- had no tendency towards essay-writing, and that hovi^ever 
proud I should be in joining my name with his in any literary enter- 
prise, I must decline his flattering proposal for that species of compo- 
sition. He told me that 1 was mistaken, and that he could suggest 
a few expedients which would qualify me to write as well in that 
manner as in any other. The plan, hov/ever, was never carried into 
effect, and Mr. Murphy then devoted his attention to his " Life of 
Garrick." 

Mr. Foot, with all his partiality to Mr. Murphy, speaks of that work 
as slight, scanty, and not upon a level with his other compositions ; 
but the truth is, that he began too long after the death of the great 
English Roscius, and too late in life. The criticisms, however, which 
he has introduced on the several plays that were brought forward 
during the management of Garrick, are sound and just, as well as 
candid, and manifest a truly liberal ^emption from all literary 
rivalry. 

It is well known that the celebrated Miss Elliot, whom Mr. Mur- 
phy first brought forward upon the stage in the character of Maria^ 
in his farce of '•' The Citizen," lived for some time under his protec- 
tion, to adopt the lenient phrase usual on such occasions. He lived 
with her in a cottage near Richmond, and she resided there while he 
went upon the circuit. Returning unexpectedly on one of these oc- 
casions, he found a fine haunch of venison roasting at the fire. UpoR 
inquiry, he found that the Earl of Bristol %vas a constant visiter ta 
the lady, and expected to dine there that day. This circumstance 
put an end at once to the connexion, and to his rural retirement. The 
lady at length lived under the protection of a member of the royai 
family, now deceased ; Mr. Murphy never withdrew his countenance 
from her, and she was glad to retain so valuable a friend. At her 
desire her royal admirer permitted Mr. Murphy to visit her when he 



MISS ELLIOT — MK. ARTHUR MURPHY, 121 

was at home, and was much pleased with his conversation. Mr, 
Murphy assured me that he was a more intelligent character than 
was generally supposed. Miss Elliot died in this situation, and such 
was her regard for Mr. Murphy, that she would have left the bulk of 
her property to him, but he declined it, and took care to secure it 
for her relations, of whom one, as far as I recollect, was her sister. 
By all accounts she was one of the most original and spirited actresses 
that ever appeared upon the stage. 

The late Mr. Philip Champion Crespigny, King's Proctor, com- 
municated to me the following incident respecting Miss Elliot. A 
gentleman, a friend of his, a member of parliament, but not ready in 
conversation, had made an appointment with a lady to sup with him 
at a tavern, and requested him to be of the party, as he was lively 
and would keep conversation afloat. Mr. Crespigny agreed, and 
they went together to the tavern. The waiter told him -that the lady 
was up-stairs, and conducted them to the room, but no lady appeared;, 
and they remained wondering what had become of her ; while they 
were speculating on the cause of her absence, she suddenly burst 
laughing from a closet in which she had hid herself. Mr. Crespigny 
added that he knew her immediately, as he remembered her to have 
been servant of a lady whom he was in the habit of visiting, before 
her beauty had betrayed her into that unfortunate mode of life in 
which she became first known as Miss Elliot to Mr. Murphv, whose 
kindness, attention, and assiduity enabled her to maintain herself by 
her talents, and to become a distinguished support of the comic stage. 
Miss Elliot was upon the stage before my time, or rather before I 
began to pay much attention to theatrical amusements. From all I 
can learn she had as much vivacity as the late Mrs. Jordan, but with 
a more graceful and elegant manner. This superiority on her part is 
the more extraordinary, as Miss Elliot was in her early life totally 
destitute of education, and Mrs. Jordan, from her family connexions,, 
had the common advantages of female cultivation and accom» 
plishments. 

I v/as often invited to dine with Mr. Murphy during what may be 
styled his retirement at Knightsbridge, and by his desire Mrs. Taylor 
was several times of the party. His dinners were well chosen, and. 
without ostentation. At length his end was evidently approaching. 
He appointed Mr. Jesse Foot his sole executor. On his death, Mr. 
Foot invited me, as one of Mr. Murphy's oldest, or rather most inti- 
mate friends, to his funeral. The late Sir Henry Bate Dudley wrote 
to Mr. Foot, requesting that he and Mr. Denis O'Brien might be per- 
mitted to join in the last testimonies of respect to the memory of Mr. 
Murphy, signifying that he should not occasion any additional expense, 
as he should bring Mr. O'Brien in his own carriage. Mr. Foot of 
course consented, and they attended the last ceremonies at Hammer- 
smith. Whether there was anybody besides Mr. Foot and myself in 
the mourning-coach, I cannot nov»^ recollect, and Mr. Foot has not 
mentioned in his Life of Mr. Murphy. Among many letters from Mr. 
Murphy, I shall select one, as it is gratifying to show that so eminent 
a man was not indifferent to my welfare, 



122 becords of my life. 

My dear Taylor, 
I have been in daily expectation of your answer to my last letter, 
but disappointed as I am, I now feel myself greatly alarmed. I am 
afraid that illness has occasioned your silence, and shall not be easy 
till I have some account of you. If writing is likely to be a fatigue to 
you, pray desire your lady, or some friend, to favour me with a line, 
that I may not thus remain in suspense. 

Adieu, my dear friend, and 

Believe me, yours unalterably, 

Arthur Murphy. 

Ifo. 14 Knighlsbridge, 
8th May, 1804. 

Having mentioned Mrs. Jordan, I will not deny myself the plea- 
sure of saying a few words of respect and regret. Though she did 
not find me among her warm admirers when she first came upon the 
London stage, she was not offended at my remarks on her acting, 
but had good sense enough to prefer sincerity to adulation. Mrs. 
Jordan, though so full of spirit, and apparently of self-confidence, was 
by no means vain of her acting. I remember sitting with her one 
night in the green-room at Covent Garden theatre, when she was 
about to perform the part of Rosalind, in " As you like it." I hap- 
pened to mention an actor who had recently appeared with wonderful 
success, and expressed my surprise at the public taste in this instance. 
" Oh ! Mr. Taylor, don't mention public taste," said she, " for if the 
public had any taste, how could they bear me in the part which I 
play to-night, and which is far above my habits and pretensions V* 
Yet this was one of the characters in vv^hich she was so popular. 

Mrs. Jordan had a great deal of humour, and related anecdotes 
with much spirit. She took in good part, and unaffectedly, any com- 
ments on her acting. In my opinion, if she had cultivated her talents 
for plaintive characters, and had studied more the graces of de- 
meanour, she would have been a very interesting representative of 
the pathetic parts of tragedy, while her genuine comic genius would 
have qualified her to do justice to the elegant gayety of Rosalind, as 
well as for the intriguing artifice of the Country Wife. The distress 
which she suffered abroad is affectingiy described by Sir Jonah Bar- 
rington, in his very entertaining Reminiscences ; but this distress must 
have resulted from some unfortunate mistake or misconception, for 
while she was abroad, Mr. Barton, an officer in the Royal Mint, and 
private secretary to an illustrious personage, assured me, that he had 
2500Z. at her disposal whenever she demanded it ; and Mr. Barton's 
character for integrity, as well as high scientific attainments, is held 
in the utmost respect. 



MKS. MAOAULAY, 123 



CHAPTER XVII. 

Mrs. Macaulay, the historian. This lady was the sister of 
Alderman Sawbridge, and agreed with him in all his republican 
notions. According to report, she was almost as fond of cards as 
her brother the alderman was of politics. One evening, as she was 
playing at whist, she was so long deliberating what card to put down, 
that Dr. Monsey, who was one of the party, and distinguished for 
blunt sincerity, told her that the table had waited for her some time. 
She expressed great surprise as well as resentment at such a rebuke, 
as she said she was known to be always very quick at cards. "Well," 
said the doctor, " if so, yours, madam, is a new species of celerity." 
The rest of the company could not help laughing at a declaration so 
contrary to her practice, which increased the spleen of the lady. 

While she was employed on her " History of England," she visited 
the British Museum, and desired to see the letters which had passed 
between King James the First and his favourite the Duke of Buck- 
ingham, whom his majesty used to address under the name of 
Stennie. Dr. Birch, whose duty was to take care of the papers, 
attended her for that purpose. The doctor, who was well acquainted 
with the contents of those papers, and knew many of them to be 
very obscene, requested that she would permit him to select a cer- 
tain portion for her perusal, observing that many of them were 
wholly unfit for the inspection of any one of her sex. " Phoo," said 
she, " an historian is of no sex," and then deliberately read through all. 

She consulted the noted Dr. Graham upon the state of her health, 
and the doctor, who knew that she had money, contrived to introduce 
his brother to her as a better adviser than himself. She soon forgot 
that "an historian was of no sex," married him at a time of life when she 
ought to have been wiser, and then lost all her historical reputation. 
She, however, soon after published a tract, which she oddly entitled, 
" Loose thoughts on literary property," and thereby exposed herself 
to the raillery of the newspaper wits. 

I knew Dr. Graham very well. He was a sensible and, as far as 
I could judge, an extremely well-informed man, both generally and 
professionally. Being too fond of notoriety, he was considered a 
quack, and having lost the good opinion of his medical brethren, he 
became careless of his medical character, adopted expedients for 
support of a licentious description, and died in great distress. When 
sober, he was a remarkably well-bred man, with most polished man- 
ners ; but when he had confused his senses with ether, of which he 
carried a bottle which was constantly at his nose, he used to walk in 
a morning-dress through the streets, and scowl with misanthropic 
gloom upon those whom he appeared most to esteem when his 
faculties were clear. He seemed to consider me one of his favourites^ 



RECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

but when I have met him in one of his wandering moments, he has 
frowned upon me with so terrific an aspect, as if he considered m© 
his bitterest enemy, that I found it necessary to make a hasty retreat 
in order to avoid a mob. 

When he Hved in Pall Mall, I sometimes called on him in th& 
evening, and used to find him on a straw bed with one of his chil- 
dren. His hair was dressed as if he had been going on a visit. 
There was always a clean sheet over his-straw bed. His conversa- 
tion was grave and intelligent, and his manners easy and polite. His 
earth-bathing and his other quackeries are too well known to the 
public to require any notice in this place. He was a tall, handsome 
man, and if he had remained stationary at his first residence in Pall 
Mall, where he was successful in practice as a regular physician, he 
would have held a respectable rank, but his recourse to empirical 
expedients of a licentious kind exposed him to disgrace and ruin. 
He possessed a fine collection of preparations representing diseases 
of the eye, which I have reason to think had been formerly the 
property of my grandfather, the Chevalier Taylor. Indeed I do not 
believe that the doctor was particularly conversant with diseases of 
the eye, though at one period he held himself forward as an expe- 
rienced oculist. What became of Mrs. Macaulay, or his brother, I 
never heard. 

I may relate an odd incident in the life of Dr. Birch. He was 
very fond of angling, and devoted much time to that amusement. 
In order to deceive the fish, he had a dress constructed, which, when 
he put it on, made him appear like an old tree. His arms he con- 
ceived would appear like branches, and the line like a long spray. 
In this sylvan attire he used to take root by the side of a favourite 
stream, and imagined that his motions might seem to the fish to be 
the effect of the wind. He pursued this amusement for some years 
in the same habit, till he was ridiculed out of it by his friends. His 
biographical work, well known by the name of " Birch's Lives,'" 
giving a brief history of many memorable characters noticed in our 
annals, displays great industry and research, but no great judgment 
or literary excellence ; the work, however, is rendered valuable by 
portraits engraved by Yertue and Houbraken. The latter was the 
better artist, and it was said that when original pictures could not be 
found, a description of the person was sent to Houbraken, who 
resided in Holland, drew the portraits according to the description,, 
and then made the engraving. It is hardly possible that Dr. Birchs^ 
who was a respectable man, could have practised such an imposition 
upon the pubhc, even supposing it not likely to be discovered. 

The great Duke of Marlborough. Archdeacon Coxe, whose 
historical works evince vast research, industry, and judgment, in his 
mem.oirs of this illustrious hero, describes him as having retained his 
mental powers to the close of his life. The fact, however, is, that 
long before his -death he sank into childish imbecility, as I have 
already stated. The following lines of Dr. Johnson would indeed 
demonstrate this fact, as he could not be supposed to found theiB 



THE DtKE OP MARLBOROreH^— JACK SPENCER, 125 

Otherwise than upon good authority, if I had not stronger proof to 
offer on the subject. 

In life's last scenes what prodigies surprise, 

Fears of the brave, and follies of the wise : 

From Marlborough's eyes the streams of dotage flow. 

And Swift expires a driveler and a show. 

Before I proceed with my records, I may not improperly cite some 
lines of a similar nature from Churchill, and leave the reader to com- 
pare and decide upon their respective merits. 

What bitter pangs must humbled genius feel, 
In their last hours to yiew a Swift and Steele, 
To drivel out whole years of idiot breath, 
And sit the monuments of living death I 

On one occasion, when the great Lord Chesterfield w^as present;, 
the Duchess of Marlborough was urging the duke to take some 
medicine, contrary to his inclination. At length she said, vehe- 
mently, " Do, my lord, take it, I'll be hanged if it will not do you 
good." Lord Chesterfield joined in her grace's intreaty, and slyly- 
said, " Take it, my lord,, it will certainly do you good one way or 
other" 

A relation of her grace, of an eccentric character, and who was 
commonly called Jack Spencer, used always to pay his respects to 
her on her birth-day. On one occasion he went in a chairman's 
coat, which he threw off in her presence, and appeared naked. Her 
grace remonstrated with him on such a shameless appearance,. 
" Shameless !" said he, " Why I am in my birth-day suit." 

Another time, for a wager, he drove a hackney-coach through the 
streets quite naked. He was very properly taken before a magis- 
trate, who having heard who he was, and with what family he was 
connected, mildly expostulated with him on the indecency of his 
appearance. " Indecency ! how do you mean ?" said Spencer. " In 
being naked," the magistrate replied. " Naked ! why I was born 
so," rejoined Spencer, with an affected simplicity, as a man might be 
supposed to evince who had some natural deformity. 

One of his whimsical freaks was to take a hackney-coach with 
three friends in a dark evening, and order the man to set them down 
in a gloomy part of the Strand at the side of the New Church. He 
had previously opened the door opposite to that where the coachman 
waited, and as Spencer and his friends quitted the coach on one side,, 
they went round and entered at the other. The coachman was at 
first surprised that more issued from the carriage. than he had taken 
in. As they continued to go round and come out, he became dread- 
fully alarmed, and at length his terror was so great that he ran from- 
the coach, and rushed into the first public-house, telling the people 
there he must have taken in a legion of devils, for, he added with 
every sign of horror, that he had only taken four in, but had counted 
eighteen out, and that more were coming when he left his coach. 



1^6 mzCORDS OP MV LIFE. 

It is said that he once contrived to collect a party of hunch-backed 
men to dine with him, some of whom indignantly quitted the table. 

Another whimsical party which he assembled at his house con- 
sisted merely of a number of persons all of whom stuttered ; but 
this meeting at first threatened serious consequences, for each sup- 
posed he was mocked by the other, and it was with great difficulty 
that their host restored peace, by acknowledging the ludicrous 
purpose of his invitation. 



, CHAPTER XVIII. 

Mr. James Boswexl. Soon after Mr. Burke was appointed 
army-paymaster, I dined at the governor's table, on the anniversary 
of his majesty's birth-day ; and in the course of conversation, Mr. 
Burke said, in answer to something that fell from Boswell, " I can 
account for Boswell's jacobitism, which, with all his present loyalty, 
he never will get rid of; when he was a child he was taken to see 
Prince Charles at Edinburgh. The sight of a fine young man coming 
upon a great occasion splendidly attired, with drums, trumpets, &c., 
surrounded by heroic chieftains, and all the ' pride, pomp, and circum- 
SBtance' attending the scene, made an impression on his imagination 
that never can be effaced." Boswell admitted that this impression 
on his mind still remained in vivid strength, notwithstanding all 
his attachment to the House of Hanover. Boswell then told the 
story of what passed that morning between Dr. Johnson and Mr. 
Windham. 

Mr. Windham had been appointed secretary to the Irish govern- 
ment, and called upon Dr. Johnson, expressing his fears that his habits 
had been so different from those of a public functionary, that he 
feared he was not qualified for the situation. " Don't be afraid, sir,'* 
said Johnson, " the subordinates will do all the business, and as for 
the rest, take my word for it you will make a very pretty rascal." 
The company, which was very numerous, laughed heartily at this 
anecdote, and Mr. Burke loudly said, "That is so like Johnson." 
Boswell has said to me more than once, " I should not die happy if I 
were not to see Grand Cairo," but if he stated the grounds of his 
curiosity I have forgotten them. He was however of a roving turn, 
and if he had been gratified with a sight of that place, he would have 
been restless till he had beheld some other. 

The last, or nearly the last time 1 saw Boswell, I met him in Hen- 
rietta-street, Covent Garden. 1 told him that I was disengaged, and 
was going to dine at a chop-house, and asked him if we should take 
a chop and a bottle together. He said no, he was going to dine in 
the city, and added, "I must keep in with those men." His reason 
was, perhaps, that he might have a chance of being one of the city 



JAMES BOSWELI., AND JAMES BOSWELL, JR. K7 

counsel, or of attaining some higher city honour, not without the 
attendant advantage of the good fare connected with such offices. 
The only time I ever offended him was, when at one of the dinners 
given by the Royal Academy on the birth-day of the late Queen 
Charlotte, I proposed, in a convivial moment, as he liked to see 
original characters, to introduce Dr. Wolcot, olim Peter Pindar, to him. 
He answered vehemently and indignantly, that he never would know 
that man, for he had abused the king ; though it is very probable 
his loyalty on this occasion was not unmixed with the resentment 
which he felt at the doctor's poetical epistle to James Boswel!. 
Wolcot would have had no objection to take him by the hand, and it 
was a settled point with him never in the slightest degree to attack 
those whom he had before satirized, after he became at all acquainted 
with them. On the contrary, when he became acquainted with the 
ingenious Mrs. Cosway, whom he had ridiculed in his " Odes to 
Painters," he changed the tone of his lyre, and wrote some elegant 
verses in praise of her talents and personal worth. 

It is no wonder that Mr. Bosvv'ell was universally well received. 
He was full of anecdote, well acquainted with the most distinguished 
characters, good-humoured, and ready at repartee. There was a kind 
of jovial bluntness inj^his manner, which threw off all restraint even 
with strangers, and -immediately kindled a social familiarity. His 
brother, Sir Alexander Boswell, was of a more conciliating dispo- 
sition. I was a little acquainted with him, and he, knowing my 
intimacy with Dr. Wolcot, requested I would make them acquainted. 
I expressed some surprise, as he had attacked his brother — " Pooh," 
said he, " that was fun, and not malice. He is a man of original 
genius, and I should like to know him." The introduction never took 
place, for the worthy baronet, who had himself a turn for satire, by 
too free an exertion of his pen, was involved in a quarrel, and un- 
fortunately lost his life in a duel. 

Mk. Jamss Boswjell, junior. This gentleman was the son of the 
biographer of Dr. Johnson. I had the pleasure to be more intimate 
with him than I was with his father. As far as I can presume to 
judge, he had a sounder intellect than his father, though it is hardly to 
be supposed, that had the same opportunities occurred to him, he could 
have produced a work equal in interest and merit to the life of the 
great moralist. He was more cautious in conversation, but not less 
disposed to partake of social enjoyment. Indeed he inherited the 
father's love of convivial pleasure. He was a barrister, and generally 
reputed to be a man of learning. His merit entitled him to all the 
friends of his father, particularly Mr. Malone, Mr. Windham, General 
Paoli, and the present Marquis of Lansdown. He devoted a great 
part of the morning to reading, but from his habits, and the general 
tenor of his conversation, I rather think more for literary gratifica- 
tion than for the study of his profession. His knowledge of the float- 
ing literature of the day, particularly any interesting poetry or striking 
novels, was evident ; and referring to any works from his recommen- 



128 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

dation, I had always reason .to respect his taste and to rely upon hig 
judgment. 

When he had ended his morning studies, or rather amusements, he 
used to sally forth, and pay a round of visits to his friends, as he used 
freely to say, in hopes among them " to spring a dinner," for h& 
" strolled a bachelor's merry life," as the song has it. He lived very 
retired in the morning at his chambers in the Temple, and very few^ 
if any, of his friends were admitted when they called. It is very- 
probable that he never dined in his chambers during the whole yearj, 
as he was fond of company, and always a welcome guest at any 
friend's table. Sometimes in convivial parties the conversation has^ 
perhaps, been of too free a tendency, and I have heard it indulged with 
some latitude in the presence of Mr. Boswell, junior ; but I must do 
him the justice to say, that he always discouraged every thing of a 
licentious description, and never uttered any thing of the kind in my 
presence, nor do I believe anywhere else. 

Not long before his death, which I doubt not was sincerely regretted 
by all who knew him, he was appointed one of the commissioners of 
bankrupts. I met him soon after, and in the freedom of friendship^ 
asked him if he found it a lucrative post. His answer was, " No, not 
yet, but we look to the hops." I naturally inferred that he expected 
failures from hop speculations, though I imagine he said so more from 
humour than sincerity, as I believe he was too liberal to wish to de- 
rive advantage from misfortune. 

The last time I saw him was at the hospitable table of the late Mr. 
John Kemble, who was equally adverse to all licentious discoursejr 
"whether concerning morals or religion. After the ladies were with- 
drawn, some topic arose on which we all differed. I forget the topic, 
but conclude that it was of the dramatic kind, as that was what chiefly 
engrossed the attention of Mr. Kemble. Mr. Kemble, I remember;, 
was very fluent, and, as I thought at the time, very shrewd and in- 
telligent. Mr. Boswell was naturally inclined to a sort of hesitation,, 
which made him repeat his words, and the influence of wine rendered 
him more so than usual, insomuch that he retired from the argument;^ 
and left the field to Kemble, who had it all to himself, as I was never 
disposed to talk, but to listen, on a subject which he had theoretically 
studied, and concerning an art in which he so practically excelled. 
How Mr. Boswell reached home that night I could not conceive^ 
for he was too proud to suffer me to accompany him. 

Here I cannot help adverting to the progress of time and events^ 
The first time I ever saw Mr. James Boswell, junior, was in the first 
gallery of the Haymarket Theatre, at the benefit of the widow and 
family of Dr. Glover. He was then quite a boy, and stood on the 
bench while his father held him round the waist. The play was 
" The Merchant of Venice," and the farce " Love a-la-77iode" I am - 
sorry to say that the theatre was but thinly attended, as is too often 
the case on charitable occasions. My late friend, Jack Johnstone, sung 
a song in character, each verse ending with the word " Whack,'^ 
which he gave with great power of lungs. Little Boswell was so de- 



DK. GLOVER. 139 

lighted with this song, that his father roared for a repetition with a 
stentorian voice, to please the child, and Johnstone readily sang it 
again. Little could I think that, in the progress of time, this boy 
would become a man whose talents and attainments I should admire, 
whose worth I should respect, and to whom I should look for pleasure 
and improvement. 

Dr. Glover, whom I have just mentioned, was a native of Ireland, 
and by profession a surgeon. He ventured upon the stage for a while, 
hut resumed his practice as a surgeon. A peculiar incident in his life 
had rendered him conspicuous. A man was hanged in Dublin (I 
believe), and the body, after execution, being removed to Dr. Glover's 
house, was restored by him to life, and as the man's crime had not 
been of a very atrocious nature, and he had suffered the sentence of 
the law, though the circumstance had excited much notice, it was 
passed over by the Irish government. Dr. Glover^ however, was ill- 
rewarded by the culprit for his kindness and skill ; for, whenever the 
man wanted money, he always applied to the doctor, alleging that as 
he had thought proper to restore him to life, he was bound to maintain 
Mm. Sometimes he called his preserver his father, for having brought 
him to life, and annoyed him in this manner for a long time. At length 
the doctor came to London, intending to settle in his profession. His 
wit, humour, and social qualities procured him so many connexions, 
that he was every day engaged with some convivial party, but derived 
little from his business. My father, who was a convivial man himself, 
became acquainted with Dr. Glover, and introduced me to him. He 
was a tall, lusty, fine-looking man, and his open manly countenance 
gave effect to his jocularity. 

There was a tavern in Fleet-street, called the Globe, which was the 
chief scene of his nocturnal festivity. Among the members of the 
club whom I knew were Mr. William Woodfall, Mr. Ross the actor, 
Mr. Cooke the barrister and friend of Dr. Johnson, Mr. Hugh Kelly 
the author, and Mr. Akerman the keeper of Newgate, a very worthy 
and humane character. There were several other members, but as I 
passed only one evening with them, I do not know their names. I 
felt myself too young to offer myself as a member. 

As Dr. Glover was the life of the company, it was delicately pro- 
posed, as his finances were by no means equal to those of the rest of 
the members individually, that he should be considered as common 
property, and never be called upon in the general reckonings. During 
this necessary, but painful adjustment, the doctor always contrived 
to fall into a nap till it was over. It is melancholy to reflect, that a 
man of worth and talents should have been obliged to resort to such 
an expedient to conceal his feelings. At length Mr. Thorpe, the land- 
lord, pitying the situation, of poor Glover, and knowing that he was 
the magnet of the club, proposed to him that he should not be sub- 
ject to this trespass upon his feelings, but that his share of the night's 
expenses should be placed to account, giving the doctor delicately to 
understand that he should never be called upon. As this plan was 
concealed from the company, the doctor was able to assume aninde- 



SECORDS OF VY LIFE. 



pendent air, and by the sallies of his humour he afforded increased 
pleasure to the members. 

He survived his friend Hugh Kelly, and, according to report, wrote 
the biographical sketch which is prefixed to the quarto volume of that 
writer's dramatic works, published for the benefit of his widow. After 
a lapse of more than thirty years, I was surprised with a visit from 
this lady, who knew that Mr. Kelly had been intimate with my father, 
and had been kind to me in permitting me to call on him, morning and 
evening, in my youth, and favouring me with the use of his Ubrary. 
Mrs. Kelly had been married again to a Colonel Davis, and had lost 
her second husband. She was near eighty years of age when she 
resumed her acquaintance with me. She retained all the vivacity of 
her early days, and related many anecdotes of Dr. Johnson, Dr. Gold- 
smith, Garrick, and many other of her first husband's literary friends. 
She died in the year 1826, while I was out of town, or I should prob- 
ably have been invited to follow her remains to the grave. 

The last time I had the pleasure of seeing Dr. Glover was in the 
lobby of Covent Garden Theatre, surrounded by a knot of juvenile 
critics, who were conversing on the character of Shakspeare's 
" Richard the Third." " For my part," said the doctor, " if I were to 
perform the character, as Richard is possessed of wit and humour, I 
should represent him, like Falstaff, with an air of jovial freedom and 
spirit," and he then recited a passage in the manner he had suggested. 
The juvenile critics all expressed their surprise, but the doctor sup- 
ported his declared opinion by so many apt quotations, so much 
humour and specious reasoning, that if they were not convinced, they 
■were, at least, highly entertained with his ingenuity. 

Dr. Glover soon after died, and in such indifferent circumstances, 
that, as I have said, his friends supported a benefit for his widow and 
children, and I never after heard of them. Indeed I never knew the 
doctor in his domestic state, never saw any of his family, or knew 
where he lived. 

Mr. Akerman, whom I have mentioned as one of the club at the 
Globe, was a plain, sensible man, who had seen the world, and of a re- 
markably kind and generous disposition, considering his melancholj 
occupation, but in point of literary taste was by no means quahfied 
for the witty and intelligent society who met at that tavern. I re- 
member, after having avowed my respect to Mr. Akerman for his 
moral qualities, once expressing my surprise to my friend Mr. Wil- 
liam Woodfall, that a man so little capable of contributing to the wit 
and hilarity of the place should be a member. His whimsical and 
somewhat ludicrous answer was, " Why, sir, Dick Akerman provides 
at least good coinciding conversation." The jovial power of Glover 
bore down all before it ; but next to him in attractive discourse must 
have been Ross, whose talk, to use a favourite word with Dr. Johnson, 
more strongly resembled the arch, shrewd dialogue of Congreve's 
gentleman, than 1 have ever observed in any other person, except Joe 
RichardsoUj though he unfortunately had a Northumberland burr. 



MS. STEPHEN KEMBLE. 131 

which prevented what he said from being at first distinctly under- 
stood. 

It is mentioned to the honour of Ross, that when " The Rosciad" 
was first published, and he was told it was a severe attack upon the 
whole community of actors, himself among the number, he imme- 
diately said, in the words of Cato : — 

"I should have blush'd if Cato's house had stood 
Secure, and^flourish'd in a civil war." 

Mr. Stephen Kemble was an actor of considerable merit, and only 
precluded from representing the first heroic characters by his extra- 
ordinary bulk. He was a remarkably handsome man. He had been 
apprenticed to a surgeon in some provincial town, but his devotion to 
the stage induced him to resign his profession. He had a strong 
sense of humour in private life, and related anecdotes, particularly of 
the theatrical kind, with admirable effect. He also possessed poetical 
talents, which appear to advantage in a large octavo volume published 
by subscription. His skill in recitation was so well known, that he 
was generally requested in company to indulge them with some pas- 
sage, which he chiefly repeated from Shakspeare. He was so fat 
that he required no stuffing to appear in Falstaff, which character he 
supported with a flowing manly humour, and, I may venture to say, 
with a critical knowledge of his author. All characters of an open, 
blunt nature, and requiring a vehement expression of justice and in- 
tegrity, particularly those exemplifying an honest indignation against 
vice, he delivered in so forcible a manner as to show obviously that 
he was developing his own feelings and character. This manner was 
very successfully displayed in his representation of the Governor, in 
the opera of " Inkle and Yarico." 

He had experienced all the vicissitudes of a theatrical life in pro- 
vincial theatres, if they may be so styled, but by prudence, good 
conduct, and the general respect in which his character and talents 
were held, he surmounted all difficulties, and was able to leave a 
competency to his widow. Indeed, his wife had essentially con- 
tributed to the improvement of his fortune. She had acquired a 
well-merited reputation for her talents as an actress at Covent Garden 
Theatre, under her maiden name of Miss Satchell. 

Mr. Stephen Kemble made his first appearance at the same thea- 
tre, in the character of Othello. Though stout in person, he was not 
then of a size that precluded him from performing any of the higher 
order of characters. He was soon attracted by the person and 
talents of Miss Satchell, and they were married. Their conjugal 
state was marked by mutual attachment, as I had abundant oppor- 
tunities of knowing, for I married one of her sisters, who was ad- 
mired by all who knew her for her personal beauty and the excellent 
qualities of her mind. All who had been acquainted with her deeply 
sympathized with me when I had the misery of losing her, about 
Bin® months after our union. Twelve years elapsed before I agaiij 



132 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

married, and I have reason to declare that I have not been less for^ 
tunate in my second choice, after a union of nearly thirty years. 

Mr. Stephen Kemble was so little scrupulous in relating the un- 
toveard events of his theatrical life, that I may advert to them here, 
as they may operate as a warning to young candidates for theatrical 
fame, and prevent them from rashly quitting a regular employment 
which might lead them to independence, one of the first of earthly 
blessings. He said that before his marriage, when he was in one of 
the towns of Yorkshire, where a large barn was formed into a sort 
of theatre, the performances were so little attractive that he and the 
rest of the Thespian party were reduced to the greatest extremities, 
iinable not only to defray the expense of their lodgings, but even to 
provide food for the passing day. He was persecuted by his land- 
lady, whose wretched garret he occupied, with the daily question, 
^' Why don't you pay your charges.?" and in order to disguise the 
necessity of abstinence, he remained two days in bed under pretence 
of indisposition. On the third day he ventured to sally forth, and at 
the distance of three miles luckily discovered a turnip-field, which he 
entered, and there made a cold but most acceptable repast. The 
next day as he was proceeding to the same hospitable banquet, the 
late Mr. Davenport, husband of the present popular actress of 
Covent Garden Theatre, who was one of this wandering tribe of 
Thespians, met Mr. Kemble, declared he was nearly famished, and 
earnestly entreated for soriie assistance. Mr. Kemble, whom no dis- 
tress could deprive of fortitude and good-humour, told Mr. Daven- 
port that it was a lucky meeting, for he was going to dine with a 
friend, and could take the liberty of bringing a friend with him. Here 
was another difficulty to poor Davenport, who said his shoes were 
so cracked that he was ashamed of going into company, proposing 
that he should cover them in part with mud, in order, if possible, to 
conceal the fissures. Mr. Kemble assured him that the friend to 
whom they were going was wholly devoid of ceremony, and would 
care nothing whether he was well or ill shod. They then proceeded 
on their journey, but Davenport, nearly exhausted by the condition 
of his stomach, made heavy complaints of the length of the way. 
Kemble endeavoured to raise his spirits, assuring him that he would 
find an ample feast and no unwelcome greeting. At length they 
i^eached the vegetable pantry, and Kemble congratulated him on 
having arrived at the hospitable mansion of his friend. Davenport 
looked around with anxiety for a house, and then cast a look of 
dejection and reproach at Kemble for having deceived him at so 
distressing a crisis. Kemble pointed to the turnip-field, and said, " This 
is my only friend ; it afforded me a dinner yesterday, and I suppose I 
shall be obliged to trespass on the same kindness till the end of the , 
week." Davenport, who was a sensible and respectable man, though 
an inferior actor, assumed better spirits, and said with a smile, " Well, 
I confess, though I do not find the fare I expected, you have brought 
me to an ample table and no spare diet." 

Mr. Davenport was some years after engaged with his wife at 



STEPHEN KEMBLE REV. THOMAS MAirRICE, 133 

Covent Garden Theatre, and always supported the characters allotted 
to him with good sense and propriety. After his former sufferings, 
it is to be regretted that he did not live to profit by the popularity of 
his wife, as he always acted the part of a good husband and father. 

Mr. Kemble used to relate an incident of a more whimsical de- 
scription. He said that while he was manager of a theatre at Ports- 
mouth, which was only opened twice or thrice in the week, a sailor 
applied to him on one of the nights when there was no performance, 
and entreated him to open the theatre, but was informed that, as the 
town had not been apprized on the occasion, the manager could not 
risk the expense. " What will it cost to open the house to-night, for 
to-morrow I leave the country, and God knows if I shall ever see a 
play again," said the sailor. Mr. Kemble told him that it would be 
five guineas. " Well," said the careless tar, " I will give it upon this 
condition, that you will l©t nobody into the house but myself and the 
actors." He was then asked what play he would choose. He fixed 
upon " Richard the Third." The house was immediately lighted, the 
rest of the performers attended, and the tar took his station in the 
front row of the pit ; Mr. Kemble performed the part of Richard, 
the play happening to be what is styled one of the stock-pieces of the 
company. The play was performed throughout ; the sailor was very- 
attentive, sometimes laughing and applauding, but frequently on the 
look-out lest some other auditor might intrude upon his enjoyment. 
He retired perfectly satisfied, and cordially thanked the manager for 
his ready compliance. It may seem strange that a sailor, who in 
general is reputed to be a generous character, should require so sel- 
fish an indulgence ; but it hardly need be observed, that whims and 
oddities are to be found in all classes of so changeable a being as man. 

Here I shall take leave of my old friend Stephen Kemble, who 
was as manly a character as I ever knew, and whose memory I 
sincerely respect. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

Rev. Thomas Maurice. This gentleman united the characters; 
of the profound scholar and the animated poet. He v/as educated 
under Dr. Parr, and always entertained the highest respect for his 
master. Mr. Maurice was an historian as well as a poet, and his 
"' Indian Antiquities" is a work of great research, admirable iljustra- 
tion, and valuable intelligence. He published a volume of poems, 
and many occasijonal productions of the same kind. His last work, 
in three parts, was styled " Memoirs of an Author," in which he 
details his own literary life and connexions. He was one of the 
officers of the British Museum, where I first met him at the apart- 
' ments of Mr. Penneck. I have also met him at the table of James 

G 



134 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

Brogden, Esq., M.P. ; at the table of my late friend Dr. George 
Pearson, M.D. ; and at that of the late Dr. Kitchener. 

The conversation of Mr. Maurice \Vas lively, acute, and fertile. 
He often quoted from classical authors, Roman and Greek, and very 
often from Shakspeare. His quotations were always apt, and some- 
times applied with great humour. No man enjoyed or laughed more 
heartily at the jokes of others. I know nothing of his private his- 
tory, except that he had lost an excellent wife, and his affliction 
on that loss had induced him to resort to the consolation of the 
bottle, to which in his latter days he became too much attached. He 
favoured me with his friendship, and I had an opportunity of showing 
my respect for his talents in occasional reviews of some of his 
literary productions. 

The last time I had the pleasure of seeing him was when I dined 
■with him at the late Dr. Kitchener's, and saw him safe at night to the 
British Museum. He had indulged himself rather too much with 
the glass after dinner, and being very talkative, he became an object 
of ridicule to some other guests at the table, who had no pretensions 
to compete with him in intellectual powers, attainments, or humour. 
I rose in his defence, but he was roused by the attack, stopped me, 
and vindicated himself with so much pleasant raillery, and retorted 
upon them with so much satirical playfulness, that he made them 
ashamed of themselves, and converted disrespect into esteem and 
admiration. 

I shall close this account of a gentleman whom 1 sincerely re- 
spected for his learning, his talents, his companionable qualities, and 
his friendly disposition, with a copy of the last letter which I received 
from him on the publication of his Memoirs, as I am proud of his 
friendship. 



TO JOHN TAYLOR, ESQ. 



* 



My dear Sir, 
My late severe illness must be my excuse for not sending the 
accompanying before. I print only two hundred and fifty, and am , 
compelled to restrict myself in presentations ; but my good friend 
Taylor, so old and kind a patron of my works, both in prose and I 
poetry, has a decided claim to every production of his faithful and 
obliged Thomas Maurice. 

/ British Museum, J 

14th April, 1821. 1 

Dr. Parr. I never had the pleasure of knowing this gentleman^ , 
and only once saw him, but having mentioned him in connexion with i 
Mr. Maurice, I will relate one anecdote of him upon indisputable ; 
authority, and which has not, I believe, been recorded in any of the; 
numerous memoirs which appeared after his death. During the 
trial, or rather the persecution of Mr. Hastings, Burke, Fox, and 
Sheridan were in company with Parr, who thought proper to give 
his opinion of the respective speeches of Fox and Sheridan on tha 



M 



DR. PARR — DR. J0HNS0I7. 135' 

memorable event. The doctor was diffusive in his comments on 
the last two, mixing censure with panegyric, but said nothing on 
Burke's speech. Burke paced the room some time in evident ex- 
pectation ; the doctor however remained silent. At length Burke, 
■who could restrain his impatience no longer, said, " You have made 
an able comment on the speeches of my two friends with acute, 
judicious, and eloquent impartiality, but as you say nothing upon my 
speech on the subject, I conclude you are too delicate to greet me 
with mere praise, and that you could not discover any faults in it." 
" Not so, Edmund," replied the doctor, " your speech was oppressed 
by epithet, dislocated by parentheses, and debilitated by amphfi- 
cation." 

The following story is told of Dr. Parr, but I do not pretend to 
vouch for its authenticity. It seems he did not live happily with his 
first wife, and had a cat that was a greater favourite. When he re- 
turned home one day, and was going into his library, the feelings of a 
previous domestic feud not having subsided on either part, on opening 
the room door something bobbed forcibly on his face. Upon exami- 
nation he found that his favourite cat had been hanged, and placed 
in that situation on purpose to annoy him. Upon discovering this, 
he suddenly hastened to a portrait of his wife and cut the throat, ex- 
claiming with vehemence, " Thus would I serve the original if the 
law would permit me." 

This reminds me of another strange connubial squabble. A 
tradesman and his wife having had a bitter quarrel, in order to ap- 
pease their fury they threw all their portable furniture out of win- 
dow. The wife then drew the bed to the window, ripped the tick- 
ing, and set all the feathers afloat in the open air, then rushing to the 
banisters of the stairs and breaking her arm upon them, with an 
insane energy exclaimed, " Now, you scoundrel, you must pay for a 
surgeon !" 

Dr. Johnson. It is not improbable that my father might have 
been introduced to Dr. Johnson through the' medium of Oldys, or 
even of Derrick, but of this I have no proof. I was too young for 
such an introduction, and if I had not, I should not have been more 
afraid of him than I was at first of Dr. Monsey, who was as rough in 
his manners, but by no means so domineering and brutal. I have 
often heard my friend Mr. Cooke the barrister, who was rather 
a favourite with Johnson, say that there was no living with him ex- 
cept by yielding to him with slavish submission. 

Johnson was inconsistent in his character, for how could his des- 
potism and violence be reconciled with his reverence for Chris- 
tianity, when his manners were totally opposite to those of its meek 
and gentle founder? He was also inconsistent in his opinions, of 
which one proof is sufficient in this place. In his " Life of Pope," he 
says, " His unjustifiable impression of The Patriot King, as it can be 
imputed to no particular motive, (why not ?) must have proceeded 
from his general habit of secrecy and cunning ; he caught an oppor- 
tunity of a sly trick, and pleased himself with the thought of out- 
1 G3 



136 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

witting Bolingbroke." Here then he assigns a motive. But is it 
possible to suppose that Pope should be ambitious of so silly and con- 
temptible a triumph ? Yet a few pages after, he says, " His violation 
of the trust reposed in him by Bolingbroke, could have no motive in- 
consistent with the warmest affection ; he either thought the action 
so near to indifferent that he forgot it, or so laudable that he expected 
his friend to approve it." At length he finally agrees with War- 
burton, who, he says, " supposes, with great appearance of reason, 
that the irregularity of his conduct proceeded wholly from his zeal 
for Bolingbroke, who might, perhaps, have destroyed the pamphlet, 
which Pope thought it his duty to preserve, even without its author's 
approbation." This motive might be supposed to occur at first to 
every man of plain understanding, for it never can be conceived that 
Pope desired the despicable profit of selling the copies, for which he 
must have waited till the author's death ; nor that he wanted the 
reputation of having written the pamphlet, since it is probable that 
he gave to Bolingbroke the few copies which he required for his 
friends, and that Bolingbroke presented them as he intended. The 
same motive of zealous friendship might be expected to occur to 
Bolingbroke, whose rancour on the subject after Pope's death was 
wholly unjustifiable. Pope has gratified the world so much by his 
genius, that it is but a general duty to vindicate his memory. 

Dr. Johnson was long a bigoted Jacobite. When he was walking 
with some friends in Kensington Gardens, one of them observed that 
it was a fine place. " Phoo," said Johnson, " nothing can be fine 
that belongs to a usurper." Dr. Monsey assured me, that once in 
company, when the conversation was on the age of King George the 
Third, he heard him say, " What does it signify when such an animal 
was born, or whetlier he ever existed ?" Yet he afterward said, in 
his account of his interview with his majesty, that it was not for him 
" to bandy compliments with Ms sovereign." 

Johnson was often too dogmatical and decisive to distinguish 
clearly. He says in his " Life of Pope," " Aristotle is praised for 
naming fortitude first of the cardinal virtues, as that without which 
no other virtue can steadily be practised ; but he might with equal 
propriety have placed prudence and justice before it, since without 
prudence, fortitude is mad ; without justice it is mischievous." The 
doctor here seems to consider fortitude as active valour. Surely 
the proper arrangement would be temperance to secure the power 
of acting, prudence to act properly, justice to respect the rights of 
others, and fortitude to bear firmly the evils of life. 

Mr. Godwin, I understand, has said that no original thought can 
be found in all the works of Johnson. Admitting this assertion to be 
well founded, it may, however, be justly urged in his favour, that, to 
use his own words, he has " recommended known truths by his man- . 
ner of adorning them ;" that he has " varied the dress and situation of 
common objects, so as to give them fresh grace and more powerful 
attractions." He has given dignity to the English language, and ai 
body of criticism upon the English poets, written in a masterly style, I 



i 



THOMAS TYERS, ESQ. 137 

and, with some exceptions, generally with acuteness, judgment, and 
liberality. But I may venture at least to say, that Mr. Godwin has 
overlooked one instance in which Johnson has shown a new, inge- 
nious, and liberal vindication of a passage in Dryden, for which that 
great poet was annoyed by persevering ridicule, and appeared unable 
to defend himself. 

The passage is as follows : 

" A horrid stillness first invades the ear, 
And in that silence we a tempest /ear." 

*' for which," says Johnson, " he was persecuted v/ith perpetual ridi- 
cule, perhaps With more than was deserved. Silence is, indeed, mere 
privation ; and so considered, cannot invade ; but privation likewise 
certainly is darkness, and probably cold ; yet poetry has never been 
refused the right of ascribing effects or agency to them as to positive 
powers. No man scruples to say that darkness hinders him from his 
work ; ar that cold has killed the plants. Death is also privation, 
yet who has made any difficulty of assigning to death a dart and the 
power of striking ?" 

This is certainly a very ingenious defence of what it would be very 
difficult to justify in any other manner, but which, after all, may 
rather be considered as ingenious sophistry than sound argument : 
still, it is original. 

Thomas Tyers, Esq. This gentleman was the son of the original 
projector and proprietor of Vauxhall Gardens. He received a good 
education, and was bred to the bar, but was of too sensitive a dispo- 
sition for wrangling courts, and having inherited a liberal competency, 
he relinquished the law, and devoted himself to friendship and 
literary pursuits. Having a turn for poetry, he furnished many songs 
for Vauxhall Gardens, which ¥/ere very popular in their day, and 
which, if not characterized by wit and humour, were always recom- 
mended by sentiment, feeling, and pastoral simplicity. He was a 
great literary purveyor, and according to Johnson, in his " Life of 
Pope," ascertained the doubtful point of what business the poet's 
father had pursued, which Mr. Tyers discovered to have been that 
of a linen-draper. 

Mr. Tyers was very intimate with Johnson, and w"as one of his 
earliest visiters in the morning. But though Johnson held him in 
great esteem, and felt much relief from his conversation and his 
accounts of public occurrences, yet Mr. Tyers, with all the mildness 
of his own character, could not escape Johnson's rough asperity. 
When Mr. Tyers called on him one morning, and told him that he 
had just taken chambers which had been occupied by Sir Fletcher 
Norton, " I wish," said the surly censor, " that you had taken his 
understanding at the same time." 

Mr. Tyers was the author of innumerable productions, which he 
published anonymously, and chiefly in the Public Advertiser, then 
the chief daily journal, and possessing numerous and valuable con- 



138 RECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

tributors. He put his name to " A Sketch of the Life of Pope," to 
another of the Life of Addison, and to one, I beHeve, of a Life of John- 
son. He wrote many dialogues of the dead, a species of composition 
to which he was very partial, and which having given to the Public 
Advertiser, he collected into a volume, and published with his name. 
He was very good tempered, and very communicative. I had the 
pleasure of knowing him for many years, and when we met in the 
street, our interviews were not very short, for I listened with plea- 
sure and instruction to his intelligent conversation, and he was always 
kindly ready to prolong it. 

One day passing his apartments in Southampton-street, Covent 
Garden, he called me in, and gave me a profile print of himself, say- 
ing, " There, take that, but I am no framer and glazier." The print 
was engraved from a drawing in crayons, by my old friend Mr. Tay- 
lor the artist, who was a pupil of the celebrated Frank Hayman ; 
and the drawing is now in the possession of Mrs. Barrett, the niece 
of Mr. Tyers, and the old friend of Johnson, Garrick, Goldsmith, and 
all the wits of her youth, when she probably attracted them. 

"William Taylor, Esq. This gentleman, a native of Scotland, 
who was generally styled " Opera Taylor," from his having become 
proprietor of the King's Theatre, was an early acquaintance of mine. 
He had been one of the clerks in a banking-house that failed, before 
he was known to the world at large. Sheridan, on some emergency, 
not uncommon with him, being then connected with the King's Thea- 
tre, wanted a thousand pounds. Taylor heard of this necessity, and 
having contrived to raise that sum, offered it to Mr. Sheridan, upon 
having security on his share in that theatre. The bargain was struck 
on this condition ; and Taylor, who possessed what is called a strong 
head, and was gifted with a " second sight" of possible advantages, 
contrived by degrees to become the chief, if not the sole proprietor 
of the Italian Opera House, and afterward a member of the House 
of Commons. 

He soon after formed a connexion with Signora Prudom, an Ital- 
ian singer, and there is reason to believe that he was actually mar- 
ried to her. How his harsh Scotch dialect, and he knew no other 
language, could harmonize with her melodious tongue, it is difficult 
to conceive. By extravagance in living, and without any solid 
pecuniary foundation, he became much embarrassed, and was obliged 
to mortgage his property in the King's Theatre, and at length was 
under such difficulties that it was tliought impossible he could ever 
recover his property. The matter came before Lord Thurlow, 
when he was lord chancellor, and here occurred " the glorious un- 
certainty of the law." Lord Thurlow, on examining the claim of 
Mr. Taylor, said, that " No magnifying power could render his right 
visible." Yet Mr. Taylor regained his authority over the King's 
Theatre, and disposed of it to other hands. 

Pending a subsequent suit on the same subject and before the 
same lord, there happened a proof of the danger of judicial joking, 
-for his lordship having animadverted on the complicated and inex- 



WILLIAM TAYLOR, ESQ. — PROFESSOR P0R30N. 139 

plicable state of the Opera House, said, that he thought " Nothing 
but a good fire could extinguish the perplexity." His lordship's hint 
■was taken, and in a short time after, the Opera House was destroyed 
by a fire, the purpose of which was to get rid of Sir John Gallini, 
and to remove all impediments to the restoration of Mr. Taylor. I 
knew the person who was supposed to have promoted this confla- 
gration, and who, it was reported, soon after sunk into the grave 
from dejection on the disappointment of his hopes, rather than repent- 
ance for his crime. The trustees of the King's Theatre then em- 
ployed my. old friend Mr. James Wyat, R.A. to convert this beautiful 
Pantheon into an Opera House, which enabled them to carry on the 
performances. 

During the performances at the Pantheon Theatre, the Opera 
House being soon rebuilt, Mr. Taylor, knowing my friendship with 
Mrs. Billmgton, and overrating my interest with her, applied to me 
to desire that I would endeavour to induce her to accept an engage- 
ment with him in some musical undertaking which he had projected 
for opening the old theatre in the Haymarket. I told him that I did 
not think 1 had so much influence with Mrs. Billington, but that if 
I had, I could not exert it, as Mr. William Sheldon, one of the trus- 
tees of the Pantheon, had been instrumental in procuring me the 
appointment of oculist to his majesty George the Third, and I should 
be therefore ungrateful indeed, if I in any measure opposed that gen* 
tleman. This refusal on my part, as gratitude always appeared to 
Mr. Taylor to be a needless restraint, deprived me of his friendship ; 
and as the state of his aftairs rendered it necessary that he should 
live in retirement, I hardly ever saw him afterward. Mr. Jewell, his 
treasurer, and the treasurer of the Haymarket, kept up a connexioa 
with him till his death, but how Taylor was able to live it is difficult to 
conjecture. He survived Mr. Jewell, who was a very worthy man. 

Professou Porson. The first time I met this literary leviathan 
was at the house of the Rev. Mr. Peters, one evening, when he was 
accompanied by Dr. White, the author of the celebrated " Bampton 
Lectures." It was invidiously discovered or reprehensibly betrayed 
by Mr. Badcock, that he had given essential assistance to the doctor 
in the composition of those lectures. It ma)^ reasonably be inferred, 
that Mr. Badcock assisted Dr. White from motives of friendship of 
of interest. In either case he violated confidence. If he gave his 
assistance from friendship, his disclosure was vain and treacherous; 
if from interest, it was mean and unjust ; for it is probable that the 
doctor would not have solicited or purchased his aid, if he had 
thought the secret would have been disclosed. Upon the same 
principle, with all my reverence for the character of Dr. Johnson, I 
always thought he acted illiberally, if not unjustly, in discovering to 
Mr. Bos well all the productions which he had written for other persons, 
for many of which he had actually been paid ; and having given the 
rest, th^y were no longer his own ; for he had suffered them to pass 
under the names of others, and had therefore no longer any claim to 
tJiem. 



140 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

Whether Person was drunk when I met him on this occasion, or 
•whether he intentionally showed his contempt for the doctor, Mr. 
Peters, and myself, 1 know not ; but he did not once join in conver-- 
isation, and kept playing with a little dog all the time he was present^ 
except when oysters and brandy-and-water were introduced, — then 
the dog was deserted, and the oysters came into play. When he 
liad finished with these, he resorted to the brandy, and resumed his 
attention to the dog. 

For myself, I did not mind his indifference ; but was shocked to 
see such contemptuous negligence towards his host, Mr. Peters, and 
Pr. White, his friends. The dog and the brandy-and-water wholly 
engrossed his attention. He did not quit the house till a late hour;. 
Dr. White seemed to view the conduct of his friend with composure^ 
as if it was nothing extraordinary, but " his custom ever of an after- 
noon." Mr. Peters, on the contrary, justly considered it as rude, 
contemptuous, and insolent. 

I afterward used to meet Person every night at the Turk's Head 
in the Strand, where he retained his devotion to brandy-and-water,, 
snd often tired the company with his recital of a burlesque parody 
of Pope's exquisite poem of " Eloisa to Abelard." It was doubted 
whether this travesty of Pope's beautiful poem was his own writing, 
but the vv-armth and frequency of his obtrusive recitations evidently 
manifested parental dotage. A limited number of this offensive 
poem has been lately published at a large price, as if indecency were 
field rare and valuable. Mr. James Perry, the proprietor of " The 
IMorning Chronicle," who was reputed to have died M'orth about 
130,000/., was a particular friend of Porson, who, it is supposed, used 
often to write political articles for him in that paper. 

When I first knew Mr. Perry, he lived at a house in the narrow 
part of Shire-lane, Temple Bar, opposite to the lane which leads to< 
the stairs from Boswell-court. He lodged with Mr. Lunan, a book- 
binder, who had married his sister. I knew her very well. She- 
was a mild, amiable, and agreeable woman. When her brother left 
Shire-lane, and took chambers in Clement's Inn, she went to apart- 
ments in George-street, York Buildings, where I occasionally called 
on her ; and as she lived single, I concluded that Mr. Lunan was 
dead, or, not succeeding in business, had gone abroad ; but I did not 
inquire. 

A few years after, I saw the newspapers announce the marriage of 
Professor Porson with, this lady, who I therefore naturally concluded 
had become a widow. Not long after, as I was coming over West- 
minster Bridge, I was saluted by Mr. Lunan, the former husbandfof 
this lady. After the usual courtesy I said, "How is this, my friend ? 
■ — why I saw lately in the newspaper that your wife is married to 
Professor Porson, and if I had met you at twelve at night instead of 
twelve at noon, I must have taken you for a ghost." It was true, he 
said, that Porson had married his wife ; and that he had also been 
married again several years. I inquired no farther, but parted with 
tiim in Hungerford Market, where he appeared to reside. I con- 



MR. JAMES PERRY — MR. SAMUEL IRELAND. 141 

eluded that as they were both born in Scotland, some ceremony had 
passed between them in that country which they did not think bind- 
ing in this ; not that they had acted upon the principle of Archer in 
the play ; — 

Consent, if mutual, saves the lawyer's fee, 
Consent is law enough to set you free. 

I never saw Porson or the lady after this extraordinary marriage ; 
but I remember her with respect, and think she was thrown away^ 
as she was a very amiable woman, upon such a sybarite. 
I Perry had the assistance of Mr. Grey, a learned, sensible man, and 
|an able writer, in the conduct of " The Morning Chronicle." Grey, 
Recording to report, had a right to half the property of the paper 
jWhile he lived, and his share was subject to a provision for his sisters 
Sn case of his death. Perry had afterward the powerful support of 
^ gentleman of great literary talent, who had also a part of the pro- 
perty of the paper, but resigned it for a compensation, and is now in 
liigh reputation at the bar. It is not understood that Mr. Perry wrote 
pnuch in the paper himself, but, mixing with the whig party, as they 
styled themselves, at Debrett's, he obtained all the intelligence they 
pould afford him, as well as many able productions from the literary 
jnembers of that party. Whatever were his qualities as a writer or 
---.-' . « "tical consistency. He was 

inserted a libel in his paper 
tten defence, the materials 



man, he had at least the merit of pol 
once committed to Newgate for having 
bn government. He published a well-wr 



pf which, according to report, were suggested by Lord Erskine 



CHAPTER XX. 

Mr. Samuel Ireland. I became acquainted with this gentleman 
|fit the time when he produced the mass of papers, letters, dramas, &c. 
^hich he pubhshed upon the information of his son, who represented 
Ihem as the genuine relics of Shakspeare, chiefly in the hand- 
Wting of the great poet. I was invited as one of a committee to 
pxamine all the documents, and to decide upon the question of their 
authenticity. As I was not conversant with old papers, I did not at- 
jtend the meeting with any intention of joining in the decision, but to 
see the various articles that were brought forward as once the pro- 
jperty of Shakspeare. After the company, consisting of many very 
respectable and intelligent characters, had looked at all the books 
which were said to have actually formed a portion of Shakspeare's 
library, as well as other matters, they waited for young Mr. Ireland, 
who had promised to develope the source of these valuable relics. 
At length he appeared, and after some private conversation between 

G3 



142 RECORDS OF MY WF£. 

him and Mr. Albany Wallace, an eminent solicitor at that time, 
the latter addressed the company, and told them that Mr. Ireland, 
junior, had not been authorized by the person from whom he had 
derived the matters in question, but that at a future meeting a full ex- 
planation should be given. Whether that meeting was ever convened 
I know not, but I remember that the previous meeting did not break; 
up without manifest tokens of discontent on the part of several of the 
members. I 

During the time that this subject engrossed public attention, and it 
was understood that Shakspeare's manuscript play was to be repre^^ 
sented, the elder Mr. Ireland invited the late John Gifford, Esq., the 
author of " The Life of Mr. Pitt," of « Letters to Lord Lauderdale," 
" The History of France," and many other works, a gentleman of thd* 
bar, and myself, to hear the tragedy of " Vortigern and Rowena" 
read by him, that we might form some judgment as to its merits and 
authenticity. Among the imputed relics of the bard there was an 
old-fashioned long-backed chair on which the arms of Shakspeare 
were embossed. The chair, though antique in its form, was in per- 
fect preservation. Tea was soon despatched, and the reading was 
about to commence, when I requested to sit in Shakspeare's chair, as 
it might contain some inspiring power to enlighten my understanding, 
and enable me the better to judge. They laughed at my whim, but 
indulged me with the chair. During the reading there appeared to 
be passages of great poetical merit, and of an original cast, but occa- 
sionally some very quaint expressions, upon which Mr. Gifford com- 
mented as often as they occurred. Mr. Ireland observed, that it was 
of course the language of the time, and that many of the words 
which were then probably familiar and expressive, had become obso- 
lete. One passage, however, Mr. Ireland admitted to be so quaint 
and unintelligible, that it would not be suitable to the modern stage. 
He then referred to Mr. Gifford and the barrister, and asked them if 
they could suggest any alteration or remoulding of the passage ; and 
when they declined to propose any thing, he asked me if I could sug- 
gest any modification of it. At this question' I affected to start, and 
said, *' God bless me, shall I sit in Shakspeare's chair, and presume 
to think I can improve any work from his unrivalled muse ]" Mr. 
Ireland then calmly doubled down the page, observing that he was 
going into the country, and should have leisure to make any altera- 
tion.'' This observation first induced me to suspect that he was ac- 
tually concerned in devising what was afterward acknowledged to be 
a mere fabrication. Yet on a full consideration, I am inclined to 
think that Mr. Ireland really confided in the story of his son, and 
relied on the authenticity of all the imputed materials. 

I was present at the representation of the tragedy, and perhaps & 
more crowded theatre was never seen. Mr. Ireland and his family 
occupied a conspicuous station in the front boxes. The play was 
patiently heard for some time, but at last the disapprobation of the 
Budience assumed every vociferous mode of hostility, together witnl 
'the more hopeless annoyance of laughter and derision. Mr. Ireland 



MR. SAMUEL IRELAND. 143 

feiore the storm for some time with great fortitude, but at last he and 
his family suddenly withdrew from the theatre, and the play ended ia 
the tumult. 

The elder Mr. Ireland afterward published all these presumed 
documents in a large and expensive form, and in a well-w^ritten 
volume defended himself against the attacks of Mr. Malone. Mr, 
Malone had given him an advantage in refusing to look at these al- 
leged remains of our great bard, and Mr. Isaac Reed also declined to 
inspect them. As I respect the memory of both these gentlemen,^ 
I cannot but think that they displayed some degree of prejudice on 
the occasion. Mr. Malone, in particular, however well founded his? 
doubts and suspicions might be, could only depend on rumour as to 
their nature and the quality of the materials. Yet he wrote a large 
volume on the subject, though his objections must necessarily have 
been chiefly conjectural. He was ably answered by ray late friend 
Mr. George Chalmers, not that he believed in the authenticity, but ta 
show that the believers had grounds to justify their opinions. He 
published a second volume on the same subject, which displayed 
great labour, assiduity, and perseverance, and brought forward many 
anecdotes and illustrations of our poetical history. 

It is well known that Dr. Parr was at first a sincere believer in the 
authenticity of these documents, and that Mr. Boswell went upon his 
knees, kissed the imputed relics, and expressed great delight that 
he had lived to see such valuable documents brought to light. It cer- 
tainly was a bold attempt on the part of the fabricator to bring for- 
ward such a mass of surreptitious productions, but the variety proved 
that he possessed talents and great ingenuity, as well as industry, for 
they must have taken up much time and labour in the composition. 
It is said that he at last acknowledged the whole to be a deception. 

I met him one night at the theatre, and to show me with what 
facility he could copy the signatures of Shakspeare, of which there- 
are but two extant, and they differ from each other, he took a pencil 
and a piece of paper from his pocket, and wrote both of them with 
as much speed and exactness as if he had been writing his own name. 
Ho gave the paper to me ; I compared the signatures with the printed 
autographs of the poet, and could not but be surprised at the ac- 
curacy. 

The elder Mr. Ireland must have been mad to incur so great an 
expense in preparing and printing these documents, if he was conscious 
of the deception ; but I am still disposed to believe that he thought 
them genuine, notwithstanding the ease with which 1 have mentioned 
his avowed intention to alter the text of Shakspeare. Before this 
transaction took place, he was a remarkably healthy-looking man, 
with a florid complexion, and stout in his form ; but afterward he 
was so reduced in his body, and seemed to be so dejected in spirit, 
that I naturally inferred the disappointment, expense, and critical 
hostility which he had suffered, had made a powerful impression on 
his mind. He did not long survive this extraordinary attempt to 
delude the public. 



J44 KECOIIDS or MY LIFE. 

Mr. John Ireland. This person, who has often been confounded 
with the other, I knew very well. He was a watchmaker, and lived 
many years practising that business in Maiden-lane, Covent Garden. 
He w^as the intimate friend of Mr. Henderson, the actor, but pecu- 
niary matters, which have often destroyed friendship, separated these 
once intimate associates. It was reported at the time, that when 
Henderson by prudence had realized 600Z., Mr. Ireland advised him 
to embark it in his business, from which he said he could derive more 
advantage than by investing it in the funds. Henderson consented ; 
but Ireland being a literary man, and finding employment among the 
booksellers, and preferring literature to trade, neglected his business, 
and, I believe, became a bankrupt. Henderson consequently lost 
bis money. He deeply resented this failure, as the money was the 
iirst-fruits of his theatrical career. He never forgave Ireland, and 
Jesse Foot told me that he had in vain attempted to bring them 
together again, and Mr. Foot reviled the memory of Henderson for 
bis obduracy. On the other hand, the late Mr. William Cooke, who 
•was a friend of Henderson and a severe economist, bitterly arraigned 
the memory of Ireland, whom he accused of deliberate treachery 
towards Henderson. 

I really believe, from what I know of Ireland, that when he took 
the money he had no ill intention, but his literary pursuits led him to 
jieo-lect his business, and misfortune was the consequence. He was 
an enthusiastic admirer of Hogarth, and was employed to illustrate 
the works of that admirable artist. He made discoveries of works 
not known to have been Hogarth's till they were proved so by his 
assiduity. He was a connoisseur in prints and works of art, and full 
of anecdotes relating to contemporary artists. On the death of 
Henderson he published a life of his old friend, and endeavoured by 
a warm tribute to his talents to compensate for the injury which he 
had done to his fortune. 

After his failure he never resumed his business, but devoted himself 
to the service of the booksellers. I used to call on him at a small 
bouse which he occupied in Poet's Corner, near Westminster Abbey^ 
and to meet him among the set who, with Porson and Perry,. 
generally assembled in the evening at the Turk's Head CofFee-house,^ 
in the Strand. He was slender and delicate in his person, and placid 
and agreeable in his manners. I never heard when he died. He 
-was patronised by the Boydells, and the late Mr. George Nicol. 

There was one very extraordinary character who used to join the 
literary and social set at the Turk's Head Coffee-house, whose name 
•was Hewardine. He was a good-looking young man, and his spirits 
Tvere inexhaustible. To use an expression of Dr. Johnson, he " hung 
loose upon the town." Nobody knew how he lived, but at last there 
was some reason to believe that he derived his support from a 
member of parliament, who was very rich in mining property, and 
who supported him as kings formerly supported jesters, to entertain 
themselves and their company. It did not appear that Hewardine 
liad any classical attainments, but he certainly possessed talents. 



HEWARDINE. "145 

though they took a strange direction. As far as I could venture to 
form an opinion of a language which I never studied, he was the 
most perfect master of what is called slang that I ever knew. Slang 
is a metaphorical and figurative language, and he who is not the mere 
channel of it must be possessed of fancy and humour. 

There is great ingenuity shown in giving a novel cast to the recital 
of ordinary occurrences, or to answers in a dialogue. This ingenuity 
was peculiarly manifested in all that Hewardine said. I wish I could, 
give a specimen of his skill in this respect ; but so many years have 
passed since I knew him, that even were I conversant with the lan- 
guage in question, 1 should do injustice to his imagination. I re- 
member that he was a formidable opponent in sallies of humour, and 
have seen Porson, and some of the most ready and intelligent of the 
company, shrink from his attacks. I took care never to enter into a 
contest with him, but was always attentive to the exuberance of his 
humour and the singularity of his expressions, 

I was once invited to dine in company with him at a friend's m 
the Temple, under a notion too favourable to me, as it was expected 
that some entertainment might arise from a sportive hostility between 
us. I was aware of the expectation, hut knew better than to hazard 
the encounter, because 1 could not oppose him with equal weapons, 
I therefore considered by what means I should avoid the contest, and 
thought the best way would be to praise him for his pov/er of adapting 
his conversation to the peculiar turn of those with whom he generally 
associated, and of rising to the level of nobler companions. I recorded 
his triumphs at the coffee-house, where no serious conversation was 
expected, and if introduced, would only lead to banter and ridicule ;. 
and expressed my satisfaction that I now found him among gentlemen 
of the bar, and two or three members of the church, so that he had 
an opportunity of calling forth his best powers and attainments, and 
doing justice to his character, without unworthy condescensions ta 
persons of different and inferior habits. This artifice of mine, which 
was merely designed for self-defence, was attended with success. - 
He felt that he was in company where ribaldry, buffoonery, and 
something worse would' be quite unseasonable. The result was, that 
though he was more dull than ever I had seen him before, he was 
more decorous, conversation in general had fair play, and the company • 
•were more gratified and amused than they could have been by the 
"wild sallies of his humorous eccentricity, v/hich, perhaps, fevv in the 
room would have understood or have been likely to relish. 

Even Hewardine seemed to entertain a higher opinion of himself 
■when he found that he was treated with attention by gentlemen of 
talents, learning, and character, without the necessity of resorting to 
degrading excesses. He seemed to be one of those careless charac- 
ters, who, as Hotspur says, "doff the Vvorld and bid it pass;" or, as 
Dr. Johnson says of the famous Tom Brown, who sacrificed good 
talents for the reputation of being a good fellow. 

Hewardine, I am persuaded, possessed a kind and good heart, but 



146 RECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

he could not deny himself the triumph of running down a simpleton, 
and never seemed to consider that, as Thomson says — 

" Poor is the triumph o'er the timid hare." 

He was, as I have said, a good-looking man. He had regular 
features, which were capable of animated expression. The last 
time I met him was in the morning, at Charing Cross. Though in 
the meridian of life, he spoke with a tremulous accent, and an 
evident appearance of a nervous frame. He complained of being 
chilly, and from his habits 1 have no doubt that he went to the first 
shop which afforded a dram after we parted. He published a small 
volume of posms, chiefly songs, of a very gay and licentious descrip- 
tion, as far as I recollect. When or where he died I never knew, 
but I remember him with a kind concern, fully convinced that if he 
had been brought properly forward in public life, with the advantage 
of a good education and regular connexions, he would not have 
submitted to be a degrading dependant upon any man who did not 
employ his wealth in protecting and encouraging talents, but in 
fostering licentious merriment and gross buffoonery. 

Cervetto. This celebrated musician was a performer in tho 
orchestra of Drury-lane Theatre in the days of Garrick. He was 
esteemed a first-rate performer on the violoncello. The nose being 
a prominent feature in his face, it gave occasion to the cry of " Nosey," 
which was not only prevalent in the upper gallery during his con- 
tinuance in the orchestra, but was traditional after he left it, and is 
gtill often heard. He was a high-spiriled man, but of a quiet and 
affable disposition. The following anecdote 1 had from his son, a 
gentleman now alive, though advanced in years, who inherits tho 
professional skill and benevolent disposition of his father. 

The elder Cervetto, during his performance in the band, was struck 
by an apple thrown at him from the upper gallery. He immediately 
took one of the sentinels who attended the theatre, and proceeded 
with him to the upper gallery, where, having had the offender pointed, 
out, he seized him by the collar, and took him to the public-office ia 
Bow-street, where he was convicted of the assault, and ordered into 
confinement for a few days. Cervetto, who was a very humane 
character, the next day. or the day after, reflecting that the man 
might have been drunk, or among some mischievous persons, and 
tempted into the wanton act, was so uneasy, that he went to Sir 
John Fielding, who then presided at the police-office, solicited and 
obtained the man's discharge, paid his fees, and gave him some money 
for the loss of time and labour which the imprisonment had occasioned, 
as he appeared to be one of the lower order of artisans. In a few 
months after, his health appearing to decline, Mr. Cervetto was ad- 
vised to ride on horseback for a few hours everyday. In pursuance 
of this advice he mounted his horse, and was, unluckily, in crossing 
Osford-street, involved in the crowd that accompanied the cart ia 



CERVETTO TUB MUSICIAN. 147 

which culprits were then conveyed to be executed at Tyburn. On 
turning his head to look on the unfortunate, malefactor, who was the 
only prisoner, he recognised the man who had assaulted him at the 
theatre ; and the man, to show that he also recognised Cervelto, 
made a motion, as well as his pinioned state would allow him, to 
indicate that he recollected him as "Nosey." This hardened in- 
difference, or rather insult, of the culprit, to one who had treated him 
so kindly, at such an awful moment, had such an effect upon Mr. 
Cervetto, that it put an end to his morning exercise, and sent him 
home indii^posed for the day, 

A ludicrous occurrence happened one night at Drury-lane theatre, 
when Mr. Garrick was performing " Sir John Brute," in that scene 
where the knight in a drunken state was gradually falling asleep, and 
uttering incoherent interjections. Cervetto, partly affected by the 
excellence of the acting, and partly by the drowsy influence of the 
sleeping knight, gave a loud yawn, which excited universal laughter, 
and wholly destroyed the effect of the scene. When the play was 
over, Garrick sent for Cervetto while he was undressing, and, with 
perfect good-humour, mildly expostulated with him for having inter- 
rupted what he considered his best scene. Cervetto apologized in 
the best manner which his broken English would allow, assuring the 
great actor that it was not in his power to prevent yawning when he 
was particularly pleased, — which his son, who told me both of these 
anecdotes, assured me was always the case. Mr. Garrick received 
this apology with great good-humour, and not without some degree of 
satisfaction. 

Another time a respectable-looking man took his station imme- 
diately behind Cervetto, and while he was performing in the orchestra, 
whispered "Nosey." Cervetto turned and merely looked at him, 
without expressing any anger. In a few minutes the same person re- 
peated " Nosey." Cervetto then turned round, and, with a smile, 
said, " Sir, you seem to have mistaken your place ; you should be 
there," pointing to the upper gallery. The word " Nosey," as I have 
said, is still called out in the upper gallery, though the persons who 
bawl it know nothing of its origin, and it will probably be continued in 
such places w-ith " God save the King," " Rule Britannia," and " Roast 
Beef," &c. &c. 

Cervetto, the son, told me that he was once very much amused on 
going into a theatre at Nottingham with a friend, at hearing " Nosey'* 
vociferated among the vulgar part of the audience with as much vehe- 
mence as in the metropolis, though it was hardly possible that they 
could annex any meaning to the word. — Touching upon the theatre, 
I may venture to mention a green-room anecdote. Before I was 
permitted to visit the theatre alone, there was an actor of some merit, 
named Palmer. He is mentioned in Churchill's " Rosciad" with some 
civility as a comic actor. He married the daughter of the celebrated 
Mrs. Pritchard, who had left the stage long before my time. Being 
an actor of repute when the late John Palmer, who afterward becam© 
deservedly celebrated, commenced his theatrical career, the latter was 



148 KEeOKDS OF MY LIFE. 

Styled on the playbills, Mr. /. Palmer. An actor, who had left the 
green-room after a rehearsal, meeting a person in the street, was asked 
if any thing had occurred at the theatre — " Yes," said the actor ; "and 
•what you will deem melancholy news ; one Palmer is dead, and another 
has had an eye knocked out." It may be proper to add that the initial 
" I " to the name of John Palmer had been immediately omitted in> 
the play-bills on the death of his namesake, because he was then the 
only Mr. Palmer. 

Jervas, the painter. This artist, the friend and favourite painter 
of Pope, who received instructions from him at a time when the poet 
was intimate with Sir Godfrey Kneller (who doubtless would have 
been proud of such a pupil), was but an indifferent artist, and totally- 
unworthy of the poet's high panegyrics on his professional skill. Mr» 
Northcote, who was a domestic pupil of Sir Joshua Reynolds, and 
lived many years in the same house, told me that one day after dinner 
the name of Jervas was mentioned, when Mr. Northcote expressed 
his surprise that reading the high encomiums of Pope, he had never 
seen a picture by Jervas. Miss Reynolds, the sister of Sir Joshua, 
and a good artist herself, to whom the observation was addressed^ 
concurred in the same surprise, never having seen one. She then 
addressed Sir Joshua, who was deaf, and raising her voice, asked him 
what was the reason that no pictures of Jervas were to be seen. 
" Because," said Sir Joshua, " they are all in the garrets." It is cer- 
tain that Pope, though very fond of painting, had little Imowledge of 
the art, and praised Jervas v/ith the zeal of a friend rather than with 
the judgment of a critic. It would now probably be impossible to 
find a picture of the painter whose name the poet has immortalized. 
It is somewhat strange that Mr. Northcote had never heard of How- 
ard, a painter, immortalized by Prior, the poet. 



CHAPTER XXI. 

OziAs Humphrey, R. A. I was very intimate with this artist iE 
4he latter part of his life. He was an admirable miniature painter, 
and he and Mr. Cosway at one time divided the patronage of the 
public in that province of art. Humphrey, however, was more ambi- 
tious than his rival, and soared into competition with Sir Joshua Rey- 
siolds. For this purpose he went to Italy to study the works of the 
great masters in that emporium of genius and taste. On his return to 
this country, he discovered that the ground was occupied by men of 
talents who had during his absence started forward, and that the fame 
of Reynolds had too widely spread, and was too deeply rooted, to admit 
of successful rivalry. He was too proud to return to the sphere of 
miniature ; and in that province of art also many men of genius had 
arisen. While Cosway was triumphant in the patronage of the fash* 



OZIAS HUMPHREY, ESQ. J4^ 

ionable world, Humphrey had in some degree been forgotten during 
his absence, and therefore thought the wisest course he could adopt 
was to go to India ; and as he was well connected, he readily obtained 
permission from the East India Company. His talents soon made 
him known, and he was generally patronised, but being too eager to 
obtain a fortune and return to this country, he was much too high in 
his charges, and as there were other artists at Calcutta, his business 
declined. The nabobs of Oude and of Arcot were deeply indebted 
to him, but not being sufficiently employed, he left India, and hi& 
Claims upon those oriental potentates remained unsettled. His agents, 
with great assiduity, ultimately obtained some portion, though but a 
small one, of the Indian debts. 

On his return to London, finding all other provinces of art fully oc- 
cupied, he turned his attention to crayon painting, and produced some 
beautiful works. But here again his business declined, when he found 
pt expedient to quit his expensive apartments in Bond-street, and to 
take lodgings at Knightsbridge. He was then attacked by a disorder 
in his eyes, but, instead of resorting to an eminent practitioner, he put 
himself under the care of an old woman, who had obtained some repu- 
btion among ignorant and credulous people, and under her manage- 
ment his sight gradually declined, until he was at length obliged to 
abandon his profession. 

I What property he had acquired was not known, but it was sup- 
posed to be very scanty ; yet he used to invite his friends to dine with 
pirn, and often promised, if I would come, that he would give me "a 
peefsteak and a mackerel." I, however, never profited by his hospi- 
ality, though his conversation would have been the best part of the 
east. Being in the habit of promising his friends " a beefsteak and a 
liackerel," when mackerel had been long out of season, a waggisb 
hend advised him to change the fish. He, however, dropped the fish 
iiltogether, and confined himself to the steak. He was invited so much 
;ibroad that it is probable he had seldom, if ever, an opportunity of 
jintertaining a friend at his own table. 

On his return from India he was very anxious to become a royal 
cademician ; and, as many of the members of this admirable institu- 
on were his friends, he easily obtained that honour. We had dined 
agether at Mr. Opie's, in Berners-street. Opie, in the evening, went 
b vote for him at the Royal Academy, and during his absence Hum- 
phrey was in great anxiety for the result ; and when Opie returned 
kith the news of his success, he rubbed his hands with ecstasy, as if he 
lad obtained a great acquisition of wealth. 

Though intelligent and well acquainted with the world, he was a 
ttle too fond of interlarding his conversation with accounts of his 
pnnexion with nobility, and seemed to think nothing worth recording 
^at was of plebeian origin. He was also lofty in his description of 
ps state in India, and used to say, that when he was at leisure he 
ailed for his elephant and took a morning ride. Opie, who possessed 
reat humour, and was fond of alliteration, in imitation of Humphrey's 
lanner, used to say, that if he went to India he should ring for his 



150 RECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

7-hinoceros, trot with his iiger, prance on his panther, canter with his 
camel, or ^ash off on his dromedary. 

Humphrey was fond of raillery, and if I may provoke my reader 
with a pun, I will mention that one day, when a little sportive contest 
took place between him and me, he said, " Taylor, you are an every- 
day man." — " Very well," said I, " and you are a weak one." I must 
not insult my reader by suggesting the proper orthography of my pun, 
but trifling as it was, it escked a laugh, and put an end to the facetious 
hostility of my friendly opponent. 

On the death of Humphrey, I received a visit from his nephew to 
announce the melancholy intelligence. He told me that his uncle 
had retained his mental faculties to the last, and was fully aware that 
his death was approaching. A few moments before he died he said 
to his nephew, " As soon as I am dead, go to Jack Taylor, at the Sun 
office in the Strand, and he will not let me drop into the grave without , 
saying something kind of my memory." I complied with his wish, , 
and inserted a tribute of respect for his character in "The Sun" news-' 
paper, which seemed to be satisfactory to his relatives. Humphrey 
was generous when in prosperous circumstances, and gave Spicer,, 
an enamel painter, fifty guineas for an enamel copy of his own por-. 
trait of the Duke of Richmond. 

Mr. Caleb WnrrEFooRu. I am induced to mention this gentle- 
man at present, because a similar circumstance attended his departure 
from this world. Mr. Whitefoord was a gentleman distinguished fori 
his wit, learning, and taste in the fine arts. I never knew a person 
more ready at a repartee. He was in partnership with Mr. Brown,i 
a wine-merchant, but being of a good family, he left the management 
of the concern almost wholly to Brown, and, like Congreve, who,) 
when visited by Voltaire, wished not to be considered an author but a 
private gentleman, so Mr. Whitefoord wished to be regarded not aa 
connected with the wine-trade, but as a gentleman and a diplomatist^ 
having been attached to Lord St. Helen's when he went to adjust th© 
preliminaries of peace with the French government. 

Mr. Whitefoord had a literary turn, which he frequently indulged 
in " The Public Advertiser," the most popular and respectable diurnal 
newspaper of the time. He was the author of " cross-readings,", 
which consisted not of reading down each column, but across the 
whole columns of each side of a newspaper, and which mode brought 
forth many whimsical and facetious juxtapositions. He also wrote £ 
sportive essav, entitled " Errors of the Press," and a series of lively; 
political articles in "The Public Advertiser," entitled " Ship News.'; 
He is mentioned in a very favourable manner by Goldsmith in hi^ 
poem of " Retaliation," not without a suspicion that he wrote the 
lines himself after the death of the poet, and induced the printer tc 
introduce them in a second edition of the poem as Goldsmith's pro 
ductioft. But as he really deserved the character given of him, ant 
was not of an artful turn of mind, I presume to think that they wer< 
a genuine tribute of Goldsmith to the merit of his friend. ; 

Mr. Whitefoord claimed the letter signed " Junia" in " The Public 



MR. CALEB WHITEFOORD AND COLLEY GIBBER. 151 

Advertiser," which was answered by " Junius" himself, with such in- 
delicate allusions, that he repented having written it, and desired Mr. 
Woodfall to disown it as the real production of that great political 
writer. 

Mr. Whitefoord's partner had partly rebuilt their house of business 
in the Adelphi, which was so situated as to afford no sight of the 
Thames, and had placed a balcony in front. He asked Mr. White- 
foord what he thouoht of the house. " Why, it is a very good one," 
said he, " and your balcony is the most disinterested one I ever saw." 
—"Why do you call it disinterested ?" said Brown. "Why?" re- 
joined Whitefoord, " because you can have vo view in it." 

Mr. Whitefoord used to tell many whimsical anecdotes, among 
which was the foHovving, George Bodens, a well-known character 
of the time, was enormously bulky, and on leaving one of the clubs 
in St. James's-street, he had called a sedan-chair, and just as he was 
entering it, a nobleman who was getting into his carriage, seeing him, 
called to him, and said he would give him a cast home. Bodens then 
left the chair, and gave the chairman a shilling. " What ! no more, 
your honour?" said the chairman. " Why," said Bodens, " I did not 
enter your chair." " Ah ! but consider the fright, please your honour," 
rejoined the man ; and Bodens, though poor himself, gave him another 
shilling for his humour. 

Mr. Whitefoord, being a wit himself, naturally became acquainted 
with the chief wits of his time, and with many much older than 
himself. He told me stories of Colley Cibber, Quin, and other 
celebrated characters, which, never thinking I should have occasion 
to record them, have escaped my memory. I remember his telling 
me that Colley was particularly severe upon the actors v^ho came 
forward after he left the stage, and especinlly on Garrick ; and Mr. 
Whitefoord added, it appeared to him that Colley Gibber's high pane- 
gyrics on actors of his own time were not without a view to degrade 
those of the succeeding period. This allusion, however, could not 
apply to Garrick, as Gibber's Apology was published in 1739, and 
Garrick did not appear in London till two years after. 

Mr. Whitefoord once asked him, as he had been a prolific dramatic 
writer, if he had not some manuscript plays by him that were deserv- 
ing of public notice. " To be sure 1 have," said he, " but who are 
now alive to act them ?" 

Now I am upon Colley Cibber, I may as well pause upon Mr. 
Whitefoord, and tell all I have heard of Cibber. The late Mr. Arthur 
Murphy, speaking of Colley, told me that he once dined with him at 
Mrs. Woffington's, when he spoke with great contempt of Garrick ; 
and she having said, " Come now, CoiIey,"you must acknowledge he 
^s a very clever young man ;" his ansvver was, " Ho is very well in 
|Fribb!e ;" and on further urging him, he said, " he does not play Bayes 
^so well as my son." But at "last, when Murphy joined with the lady in 
high eulogiums on Garrick, comparing his animated representations of 
[life, and diversities of character, with the stately pomposity of Quin, he 
was induced to admit that Garrick was an extraordinary young man» 



152 RECORDS OV MY LIFS. 

In the course of the evening, Gibber was earnestly entreated to 
repeat some passage from any character he had performed ; and after 
much importunity, he said, " Well, you jade, if you will assist my 
memory, I will give you the first speech of Sir John Brute." He theis 
delivered the speech with little assistance from the lady, in the most 
masterly manner, as Mr. Murphy assured me; and when he had 
praised the good qualities of Lady Brute, closing with " But here she 
comes," his expression of disgust was more strikingly characteristic of 
a surfeited husband than any thing of a similar nature he had ever 
witnessed on the stage. 

Mr. Murphy told me also, that he was once present at Tom's 
Coffee-house, in Russell-street, Covent Garden, which was only open 
to subscribers, when Colley was engaged at whist, and an old general 
was his partner. As the cards were dealt to him, he took up every 
one in turn, and expressed his disappointment at every indifferent one. 
In the progress of the game he did not follow suit, and his partner 
said, " Yvhat ! have you not a spade, Mr. Gibber?" The latter, look- 
ing at his cards, answered, *' Oh, yes, a thousand ;" which drew a very 
peevish comment from the general. On which Gibber, who was 

shockingly addicted to swearing, replied, " Don't be angry, for 

I can play ten times worse if I like." 

By all accounts, Gibber had more inexhaustible gayety in his mind 
and manner than his contemporaries had known of any other charac- 
ter. This peculiar turn of mind is evident in his dedication to his 
" Apology," in the work itself, and in his letters inserted in the " Gor- 
respondence of Richardson, the author of ' Glarissa,' ' Sir Gharles 
Grandison,' &c." The name of the person to whom the dedication 
to the " Apology" was addressed is not mentioned, but the late Mr. 
John Kemble assured me that he had authority for saying it was Mr. 
Pelham, brother to the Duke of Newcastle. 

GoUey Gibber lived in Berkeley-square, at the north corner of 
Bruton-street, where my mother told me she saw him once standing 
at the parlour window, drumming with his hands on the frame. She 
said that he appeared like a calm, grave, and reverend old gentleman. 
With all our admiration of the poetical and moral character of Pope, 
it must be acknowledged that he absurdly as well as cruelly perse- 
cuted Gibber ; but the latter well revenged himself in two well-known 
letters published against " the wicked wasp of Twickenham," as Pope 
■was styled at the time ; and the younger Richardson, who was pre- 
sent when Pope was reading one of them, has recorded their effects 
on the irritable temper of the bard. 

I have too long forgotten my friend Mr. Whitefoord, of whom, 
however, I have little more to say. He called on me one morning, 
apparently full of some interesting information, while I was proprietor 
and conductor of " The Sun," and desiring me to take up my pen, 
bade ma write as follows : — " Birth. On the — inst. the lady oJ 
Caleb Whitefoord, Esq., at his house in Argjle- street, of twins ;" and 
he uttered the last word with such a triumphant shout as might almost 
iftve been heard in the street. He had a good collection of pictures, 



MR. CALEB WHITEFOORD— MRS. BORNELTS. 15S 

and was a judicious critic. He presented me with a small picture 
of David and Bathsheba, of no great merit, but which he ascribed to 
Luca Jordano. He was much respected for probity, as well as for 
his wit and scholarship. He was taken ill of a fever, which alarmed 
his family, and it was thought proper to send for his solicitor, Mr. 
James Seaton, one of his old friends, and that gentleman called on 
me to say that Mr. Whitefoord desired to see me. He was in bed, 
and manifested his usual good-humour when I entered his room. 

Mr. Seaton met me by appointment soon after, and that gentleman 
in the most delicate manner hinted to him in my presence that, as 
there was at his time of life some danger that his illness might not 
have a favourable termination, it would be proper for him to make a 
will for the security of his wife and family. He did not seem alarmed, 
but said '• With all my heart." Mr. Seaton was then provided with a 
paper for instructions, and Mr. Whitefoord remained silent. Mr. 
Beaton then asked what property he thought he possessed. Mr. 
Whitefoord still remained silent. At length Mr. Seaton said, '' Shall 
I say 20,000Z. ?" and his answer was, " I hope so." The will was 
then arranged, and two or three persons were proposed to Mr. White- 
foord as executors, but he gave satisfactory reasons for rejecting them, 
and proved that his faculties were by no means impaired. At last 
Mr. George Nicol, the eminent bookseller of Pall Mall, another 
friend, a respectable dealer in pictures, and myself, were appointed 
executors. Mr. Nicol, who was a man of business, and universally- 
esteemed for kindness and probity, took the whole burden upon him- 
self, and discharged the duties of his trust with great zeal, assiduity, 
and friendship, calling on his coadjutors only when it was necessary 
to apply their signature to official documents. Mr. Whitefoord died, 
as far as I recollect, the following day, and I attended his funeral in 
Paddington church. He was much regretted by his friends for the 
kindness of his disposition, his humanity, knowledge, and facetious 
fertility. He was an excellent judge of acting, and an enthusiastic 
admirer of Garrick. His pictures were numerous and well selected, 
and among them were many by Sir Joshua Reynolds. He was very- 
fond of music, with which he was reputed to be scientifically conver- 
ssant, and was in all respects a man of taste and worth. 



CHAPTER XXH. 

Mrs. Cornelys. My family, in my boyhood, were well acquainted 
mith this extraordinary woman, who once" made a distinguished figure 
in the regions of fashion. Her mansion in Soho-square, which she 
styled Carlisle House, wa* admirably arranged for concerts, balls, 
masquerades, &c., and was peculiarly appropriate for the assemblage 
of the higher order of visiters. Her 'house was patronised by some of 



154 RECORDS OF Mr LIFE. 

the chief nobility for many years, till the appearance of the Pantheon, 
in Oxford street, a structure of the most beautiful and elegant descrip- 
tion, the architectural triumph of the late Mr. James Wyat. 

The magnificent edifice of the Pantheon, supported by patrons of 
the higher order, gave a fatal blow to Carlisle House, the attraction 
of which gradually declined, till Mrs. Cornelys was at last obliged to 
relinquish her establishment, and sunk by degrees, till she ultimately 
became an inhabitant of the Fleet prison fur debt, and I believe re- 
mained there some years. Before she came to England, she had 
been a public singer in Germany, of v;hich she was a native. She 
brought to tliis country a son and daughter, to whom she gave a good 
education. The son, who was a very amiable and accomplished 
young man, after his mother's fall, assumed the name of Altorf, and 
for some years was the tutor of the late Earl of Pomfret, who has 
several times told me that he held him in esteem for his talents, at- 
tainments, and moral character. He went abroad after he left Lord 
Pomfret, and I never heard what became of iiim ; but from what I 
knew of him, I doubt not that his talents and character enabled him 
to support himself respectably. 

His sister was of a different description, and is less entitled to a 
respectful notice in this work. She was the only daughter of Mrs. 
Cornelys, and he was the only son. What were their ages wheni 
their mother first brought them to this country, I know not. She 
must have arrived in my infancy, as she kept a carriage and a coun- 
try-house at Hammersmith long before our family were acquainted 
with her. I never heard where the son was educated, but probably 
in his earlier years abroad, as he retained a foreign accent, though in 
full possession of the English language. 

The daughter was placed in a Roman Catholic seminary at Ham- 
mersmith, generally known by the name of " The Nunnery," which it 
still bears. Sophy Cornelys was brought from that place when she 
was about fifteen years of age, and resided with her mother either at 
Carlisle House, or at her seat at Hammersmith. She had cultivated 
her musical talents with success, and performed very well upon the 
piano-forte, the harp, and the common guitar. She had a fine voice, 
and sang with great taste and expression. After her mother's fall,! 
she began to think the connexion not very creditable to her; and 
when she once visited her mother in the Fleet, told her that she was 
sure she was not her daughter, but of noble origin in Germany, and 
desired to know who really were her parents. It was in vain that 
the mother, depressed with misfortune, and shocked at such an 
unnatural application, with tears in her eyes assured her that her 
suspicion was wholly unfounded. Sophy resolved to believe the> 
contrary, and, I fear, deserted her unhappy parent. Finding it expe- 
dient to give herself a noble extraction, she reported that she was a f 
natural daughter of Prince Charles of Lorraine by a lady of quality, c 
and was base enough to insinuate that Mj-s. Cornelys wanted to sacri- t 
fice her to Lord Pigot, who lived in Soho-square, and was a patron a 
of her mother ; though the mother, knowing that Lord Pigot was a j 



MISS COnNBLYS. 155 

man of gallantry, actually sent her daughter to a convent abroad, that 
she might be out of the way of temptation. It is proper to add, that 
I have no reason to believe she ever, to use the words of Pope, 
*• broke Diana's law." 

For some time the present Mr, Charles Butler, well known for hia 
legal knowledge, his attachment to the Roman Catholic religion, his 
literary talents, and the benevolence of his disposition, allowed her a 
provisipn, which enabled her to take apartments near Bedford-row, 
Bloomsbury. He had known her in her prosperity, was fond of 
music, and admired her talents. I remember to have heard her sing 
an air, the words aiid music of which were composed by that gentle- 
man, of which I reminded him many years afterward, when I had the 
pleasure of meeting him at the late Dr. Kitchener's. 

During many months, while Sophy Cornelys was endeavouring to 
procure a situation as teacher to young ladies in a private family, for 
which she was well qualified by her musical talents, and her know- 
ledge of the French and Italian languages, it was her custom to come 
after breakfast to our house in Hatton Garden, where she continued 
the remainder of the day, and I always escorted her home at night. 
She was a very agreeable companion, and by her talents well re- 
warded my parents and the family for the humble protection which 
she received. At length Lady Harrington, the mother of the late 
earl, took her into her mansion at the Stable Yard, St. James's, and 
treated her with great kindness. She afterward resided with her 
former pupil, the Duchess of Newcastle, when her grace was Lady 
Anna Maria Stanhope, one of the beautiful daughters of Lady Har- 
rington. 

I was once introduced to the late Lord Harrington by his lively 
and good-humoured son, then Lord Petersham. 1 mentioned Miss 
Cornelys to Lord Flarrington, who was glad to be reminded of one 
of the companions of his youth, and desirous of knowing what had 
become of her. Old Lady Harrington was very fond of music, and 
styled Miss Cornelys' voice a " moonlight voice," which, strange as 
the epithet may appear, was not inappropriate, as it had a soft, calm, 
plaintive sound, which, like the " sweet echo" of the lady in Comus^ 
■was more suited to the stillness of night than " to the garish eye of 
day." 

The next remove of Miss Cornelys was to the protection of old 
Lady Spencer, who left her a hundred pounds a year at her death. 
She had resided w:ith the Duchess of Newcastle in Lincolnshire, and 
with Lady Spencer at Richmond. On the death of the latter, she 
returned to town, and renewed her acquaintance with some of her 
earlier friends, but being introduced to the present Princess Augusta, 
she gradually dropped all intercourse with her old connexions, and 
leven denied that she ever knew them. I forgot to mention in the 
iproper place, that on the fall of her mother, she was anxious not ta 
be known as Miss Cornelys ; and one night when a knock was heard 
at our street-door, to quiet her fears lest a stranger should hear her 
name, she begged that 1 would go to the door myself and prevent 



156 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

intrusion. The person who knocked happened to be an inquisitive 
little friend, who was too intimate with the family to be excluded ; 
and asking who was in the parlour, a common name occurred to me, 
and I told him a Miss Williams. From that time she adopted this 
name, and retained it amid all her vicissitudes till her death. 

She was totally void of sensibility, but affected great feehng. She 
was kindly harboured some time by Mrs. Mayor, the wu"e of Mr. 
Mayor, formerly member of parliament for Abingdon, who was an 
accomplished lady, and at whose house I was a frequent visiter. One 
evening when Miss Williams was present, a story of a recent domestic 
calamity was related, which drew tears from all "the company, while 
Miss Williams forgot herself so much as to continue her needlework 
•with apparent indifference. Mrs. Mayor, observing her so unmoved, 
could not help expressing her surprise that she should hear so lament- 
able a story, which had so deeply affected all the company, without 
emotion. Miss Williams, who then thought it time to " assume a 
virtue if she had it not," twisted the hair upon her forehead, looked 
wildly, exclaimed, " Oh ! it is too much," and rushed hastily out of the 
joom to give vent to the violence of her sympathy. 

At leno-th she withdrew from all intercourse with those who were 
likely to have known her in early days, and, obtaining the patronage 
of the present Princess Augusta, was employed by that amiable branch 
of the royal family in the distribution of her charities, to whom, no 
doubt, she submitted cases of calamity that never existed, and allotted 
the bounties to herself She was so artful, so suspicious, and so un- 
for<Tiving, that a lady who was also patronised by the same princess 
for'^her^talents as an artist, and who had painted a portrait of her 
royal highness, assured me she was obliged to pay the most cautious 
homage^to Miss Williams, lest she should deprive her of the royal 
patronage. 

It may be thought that I am too harsh in descnomg one ot my 
€arly connexions ; but I feel it to be a moral duty not to suffer arti- 
fice, hypocrisy, and ingratitude to put themselves forward as virtuous 
quahties. Besides, Miss Williams was many years older than I was 
at the time, and I knew too little of the world to be able to pierce 
through the veil of practised subtlety and dissimulation which she 
assumed. Far from regretting that I have thus unmasked an artful 
hypocrite, who has not left any relations to lament her death, I con- 
ceive it but just that I should undeceive those whom her cunning 
might have ensnared into friendship, and hold out a warning to amia 
ble credulity. . , 

The fate of her mother may excite curiosity, and is not unworthj 
of notice. She was many years in the Fleet prison after her fall 
The friends of her prosperity, as might be supposed, nay, indeed, ex 
pected by those who know the world, entirely deserted her, anc 
perhaps she was never visited by her daughter, except upon the im 
pudent pretence of inquiring who were her noble or princely parents 
It is not improbable that her son, if then living, was the means o 
procuring her liberty and affording her subsistence. After raanj ? 



MISS CORNELYS. 157 

years, when my late excellent friend Mr. Edward Jerningham, gen* 
©rally styled the poet, was taking me in a carriage to dine with a 
mutual IHend at Hammersmith, we stopped at a house in Knio-hts- 
bridge, where we alighted, and he introduced me to an old fady, 
whom I immediately recognised as Mrs. Cornelys. And what, gentle 
reader, do you suppose was then the calling of this lady, who had 
formerly been styled " the empress of the regions of elegance and 
fashion V' That of purveyor of asses' milk. 

She had a large brood of the long-eared sisterhood in. her service, 
and despatched them daily to several parts of the town. She was 
not, however, though far advanced in years, andas might be supposed, 
subdued by adversity, without a hope that she should possibly regain 
her influence in the fashionable world ; for she aspired to the honour 
of having a public breakfast, under the patronage of his late majesty, 
then Prince of Wales, at her humble dwelling, which might be aptly 
styled Asinine Hall. She seemed delighted at the idea of being re- 
introduced to any part of a family who had known her in better times. 
She then took us into the room intended for the morning ftte that 
was to take place under royal patronage. It exhibited a melancholy 
proof of the total loss of that taste which had produced such a variety 
-of elegant arrangements, at Carlisle House ; and consisted of a small 
room ornamented on all sides, as well as on the ceiling, with bits of 
variously coloured looking-glass. 

As Mr. Jerningham, who was intimately connected with people of 
the highest rank, and had visited Carlisle House in the meridian of 
its splendour, and as I, when a boy, had been permitted to see it in 
that state, the change in her situation absolutely depressed our spirits, 
and our gloom was not dissipated till we partook of the hospitality of 
the fiiend whom we were going to visit. 

Before we left her, however,"Mr. Jerningham, with his usual kind- 
ness, had mentioned me to the lady as po'ssessed of literary talents ; 
which induced her to request that I would write an address to the 
! Prince of Wales, soliciting his royal highness to patronise her fete. 
il complied with her request, and wrote two for the occasion. It will 
<hardly be believed that a young man then attended her daily in the 
jcapacity of her secretary, who was to copy the address, and present 
it in person to the expected royal patron. The princely repast of 
bourse never took place ; the brood of long-eared nurses fell into 
tother hands, and I never knew what became of this unfortunate vic- 
tim of fashionable caprice and filial ingratitude. 

1 may here properly introduce a story v/hich I heard from good 
authority. Tiie proprietor of the house at Knightsbridge, where Mrs. 
Pornelys presided over the milky way, went abroad as secretary to the 
governor of one of our West India islands, and took with him his wife 
[and an infant daughter in arms. They stopped on their way at some 
|[loman Catholic settlement, and the lady was taken to a nunnery to 
Irink tea. She took her child v»^ith her, and the abbess was so pleased 
fvith it that she requested to have it taken to the nuns, that they 
night see so beautiful an infant. During the time that the child was 

H 



158 RECORDS OP MT UPE. 

absent, the abbess endeavoured to persuade the mother to let it re- 
main in the convent, where it should be well provided for through life,» 
The mother, however, of course declined the proposal, and being; 
alarmed, importunately demanded her child. The abbess and the 
nuns refused to bring it back, and forced the mother out of the place. 
The mother then applied to the governor of the settlement, and ob- 
tained from him an order to restore her child. The child, which was 
beautiful and healthy when it entered the convent, was restored to 
her, but so altered and languid that she scarcely knew it, and it died 
before the morning. Hence it was inferred that the abbess and th© 
sisterhood deemed it more meritorious to murder the infant than suffer 
it to be brought up a heretic. 



CHAPTER XXni. 

Hatdjc. The first time that I saw this celebrated composer was- 
at Madame Mara's, in what is now called Foley Place, Marylebone. 
I had dined there in company with my late friends, Dr. Wolcot and 
BIr. Crosdill, the most eminent performer on the violoncello that per- 
haps ever existed. Before the wine was removed, Mr. Salomon, the 
great violin-player, arrived, and brought Haydn with him. They 
were both old friends of Madame Mara. Haydn did not know a 
word of English. As soon as we knew who he was, Crosdill, who' 
"was always in high spirits, and an enthusiast for musical talent of all 
kinds, proposed that we should celebrate the arrival of Haydn with' 
three times three. This proposal was warmly adopted and com- 
menced, all parties but Haydn standing up. He heard his name 
mentioned, but not understanding this species of congratulation, stared 
at us with surprise. As soon as the ceremony ended, it was explained 
to him by Salomon. He was a modest, diffident, and delicate man, 
and was so confused with this unexpected and novel greeting, that 
he put his hands before his face and was quite disconcerted for some 
minutes. 

Finding that he was in company with so celebrated a musical per- 
former as Crosdill, and so populat* a poet as Peter Pindar, whose 
fame had reached him in Germany, he felt himself comfortable, and 
■we did not separate till a late hour, to the perfect satisfaction of 
Madame Mara, who was delighted to see so great a genius as Haydn 
enjoying the animated character of Crosdill, the sarcastic shrewdness 
of Salomon, and the whimsical sallies of Peter Pindar. A few 
months after, when Haydn had acquired some knowledge of the 
English language, Mr. Salomon invited him, Dr. Wolcot, and myself, 
to dine at the coffee-house in Vere-street, Oxford-street, in a pri- 
vate room. Salomon, who was a very intelligent man, entertained 
us with anecdotes of distinguished characters in Germany, and ex- 



HAYDN— ANTHONY PASQUIJT. 159^ 

plained many observations which Haydn made on the works of 
Handel, Mozart, and other eminent musicians ; at length the name of 
Pleyel was mentioned, and Dr. Wolcot, who was apt to blunder, 
burst into a rapturous eulogium on the admired concertanle of that 
composer, and on his taste and genius as a musician. The doctor 
carried his zeal to such an extent, forgetting that there was so great 
a musical genius in the room, that Haydn at last, readily admitting 
the merit of Pleyel, could not help adding, a little warmly, " But I 
hope it will be remembered that he was my pupil." The doctor 
felt this remark as a rebuke, and attempted a confusfed apology. 

I afterward met Haydn at Mrs. Biilington's at Brompton." The 
party was large. Shield was present ; but the room was disgraced 
by the appearance of a man named Williams, who was not better 
known by the assumed designation of Anthony Pasquin. This man 
was by no means destitute of talents or humour, but was vain, vulo-ar, 
insolent, and overbeai'ing. His works are marked by low malio-nitv. 
He was the terror of the middling and lower order of actors and 
artists, and would call on them in a morning, ask them if they dined 
at home, and finding that they did, v^^ould impudently order them to 
get a particular dish, and sometimes bring an acquaintance with him 
at the appointed hour. This practice he carried on for many yearSj 
almost subsisting upon timid painters and performers, musical and 
theatrical, who were afraid of his attacks in newspapers, or in his 
abusive verses. • 

At the dinner which I have mentioned, he sat opposite to Haydn, 
whom he suddenly addressed in tlje following manner. " Mr. Haydn, 
you are the greatest genius that ever I saw," concluding with a very 
coarse and violent asseveration. Haydn was confused, and the com- 
pany shocked, not only by this vulgar salutation, but by the general 
coarseness and obtrusiveness of his manners. 

Hearing that Mr. Shield, Dr. Wolcot, and myself had ordered a 
coach at night, he watched us, and as we were getting into it, forced 
himself upon us, alleging that he would pay his portion of the fare. 
Shield, who Was all good-nature and kindness, readily assented, but ta 
the horror of Dr. Woleot, who with great difficulty concealed the 
disgust which Pasquin had excited. Willing to have a little harmless 
mischief in the coach, I jogged Shield, who with all his benevolence 
was fond of fun. I expressed myself highly gratified in being a fellow- 
passenger with two men of great genius, who had both distinguished 
their poetical powers under fictitious appellations, observing how 
gratifying it would be to the world if they would unite their powers, 
and publish a work in conjunction, proposing that they should shake 
hands together to ratify their undertaking. Pasquin immediately 
stretched forth his hand, and declared that he should feel great pride 
in such a literary alliance, and attempted to seize the hand of Wol- 
cot, who felt unwilling to offer it, and held it in such a manner as if 
he feared contagion in the touch. I resumed the subject, and was 
beginning to predict some admirable production of their united genius, 
"when Wolcot could no longer restrain his feelings, but accused me, 

H2 



160 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

with great warmth, of endeayouring to promote mischief. I appealed 
to Shield, who enjoyed the joke, whether 1 had not endeavoured 
rather to promote harmony between two persons who were before 
strangers to each other. Finding its effect upon Shield, for whom 
the doctor had a sincere regard, he began to see that I had nothing 
but merry mischief in view, and remained silent ; still nothing could 
induce him to turn towards Pasquin, who sat on the same side with 
him. At length the coach stopped, by order, at St. Paul's, Covent 
Garden, and the moment the man opened the door, Pasquin bolted 
out and ran towards the Strand. Wolcot, seeing him run off", imitated 
his example, and ran the contrary way with as -little ceremony. I 
however pursued him, but he took hold of the church rails, laughed 
heartily, saying, " As soon as I saw Gibbet run, I resolved to follow 
his example." However, he came back to Shield, and readily paid 
his portion of the fare, not without some reluctance on the part of 
Shield, who wanted to consider the coach as wholly his own, parti- 
cularly as he had suffered Pasquin to enter it. We then concluded 
a pleasant night together. 

Among the theatrical performers upon whom this Anthony Pasquin 
levied contributions was Mrs. Abington, and as this lady had by no 
means been a votaress of Diana in the early part of her life, he exer- 
cised a double power over her; for if she rejected his applications for 
pecuniary assistance, he could not only wound her feelings by alluding 
to scenes which she of course wished to be buried in oblivion, but 
could bitterly animadvert upon her theatrical exertions while she 
remained on the stage. Such was her terror of this predatory 
financier, that she submitted to all his exactions. 

My friend Vfilliam Cooke, the old barrister, who was really her 
friend, endeavoured to rescue her from this thraldom, but in vain ; 
Pasquin invited himself to dine with her whenever he pleased, and 
always reversed the usual order of things, by making her pay him 
for attending her involuntary invitations. 

When my late friend William Gifford published a new edition of 
his " Baeviad and Meeviad," he alluded in some bitter strictm-es to 
Anthony, v/ho brought actions against the author, and a considerable 
number of booksellers who had sold the work. The chief defendant 
employed Mr. Garrovsr as his counsel, and in the defence, that gentle- 
man cited so many infamous passages from Pasquin's works, of an 
offensive description, that he was nonsuited, and obliged to fly to 
America to avoid the pressure of the law expenses which he had in- 
curred. In America, he was employed by the proprietor of a news- 
paper hostile to Cobbett, to attack that writer, but though Anthony 
had a ready knack at rhyming, he was a bad prose writer, and found 
Peter Porcupine too formidable an adversary, and the strong pen of 
that author soon drove him back to England, where he was obliged 
to live in obscurity for fear of his creditors. He however emerged 
again, was employed to write for a morning'paper, and dragged on 
a precarious subsistence. 

During the time he was in America, there was a report of his death. 



ANTHONY PASQUIN MR. WBST, PRES. E. A. 161 

Mr. Cooke immediately went to Mrs. Abington and congratulated 
her on the death of her literary tyrant. Mrs. Abington, who knew 
. the man, and suspected the artifices which he was likely to adopt, far 
from manifesting the pleasure which Mr. Cooke thought his news was 
calculated to excite, displayed a painful expression on her features, 
and earnestly addressing him, said, " Are you sure he is dead 1" The 
event justified her doubt, for after having compromised with his cre- 
ditors, who wisely reflected on the folly of throwing away money in 
law upon such a man, they suffered him to subsist upon the depreda- 
tion of the pen. 

His despicable life really ended some years ago at an obscure village 
not far from London. It was my misfortune to be in early life ac? 
quainted v^^ith this man, before he was so degraded a character, and 
he consulted me on the state of his eyes. I lamented the connexion, 
but bore it with fortitude. I lost his friendship unexpectedly. On 
the day when the late Mr. West, the President of the Royal Academy, 
first exhibited his large fine picture of Christ Rejected, as I was going 
to see it I met Pasquin, who was returning from the private view. 
He told me where he ha*d been, and I asked him what he thought of 
the picture. He said that there were some beauties and many faults. 
*' Ay," said I, " but you are so kind and liberal-minded that you will 
take no notice of the latter." He left me abruptly with a frown, and 
though we often passed each other afterward, he never condescended 
to notice me again. 

Worthless and despicable as this man was, I cannot but condemn 
the manner in which he had been treated on an occasion which de- 
veloped his character and doomed him to irremovable disgrace. He 
had, doubtless, under a consciousness of the terrors of his pen, and 
the boldness of his arrogance, for he affected the character of a hero, 
uttered something that disgusted the company at a tavern in Bow- 
street, Covent Garden, and an apology was demanded on his knees, 
which he refused to give. He was then assailed by persons of more 
strength than himself^ and so severely beaten, that, partly from weak- 
ness and partly from fear, he fell on his knees and uttered all that was 
required, and then sunk to the ground, in v.'hich situation he was 
kicked in the mouth, and his front teeth, which were fine ones, were 
driven from their sockets. This treatment was cruelty, not just re- 
sentment. It would have been surely sufficient to have pulled the 
lion's skin from the detected ass. 

Having mentioned Mr. West, I must indulge myself in a tribute of 
respect to him as an old and esteemed friend. I knew him very 
many years, and often visited him in his painting-room, where I de- 
rived much pleasure from his conversation. The Royal Academy 
used to have a dinner on the anniversary of the birthday of the late 
Queen Charlotte, and the members had the privilege of introducing 
a friend. I was the guest of Mr. West on these occasions for many 
years, and he genei%U^>placed me next to himself on his left hand at 
the cross-table. On one occasion, seeing the late Sir Henry, then 
Mr. Raeburn, unnoticed atone of the long tables, as I had the pleas- 



11^2 HECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

lure of knowing him, I suggested to Mr. West that the great artist of 
Edinburgh was present, and that I was sure he would be glad to 
show Mr. Raeburn a mark of his respect. Mr. West readily adopted 
the hint , and after a handson)e compliment to Mr. Raeburn on his profes- 
sional merit, invited him to a seat at the cross-table. Mr. Raeburn, 
who was a very modest and amiable man, was quite confused by this 
unexpected notice ; but, expressing his thanks in a few words, he could 
not avoid the invitation. When he came to the cross-table, he said 
with a good-natured reprehension, " You brought all this embarrass- 
ment upon me." 

W^hile my son was at the high-school at Edinburgh, he received 
much kind attention from this estimable gentleman, who told me in 
a letter that he had made a sketch of a young friend for me, and soon 
after sent to me a finished and beautiful portrait of my son. 

I once before had an opportunity of drawing from an obscure situa- 
tion a gentleman by station and character entitled to public respe.ct. 
Thisgentleman was Mr. Jay, the American ministertothe British gov- 
ernment. I dined on a lord mayor's day at, Guildhall, in one of the 
private rooms, and Mr. Jay was pointed out to me. I thought that 
from respect to the American government its minister should be more 
tiistinguished. I therefore went to the cross-table in the great hall, 
and in a whisper told Sir John Scott, now the venerable Lord Eldon, 
•whom I had the honour of knowing, the situation of Mr. Jay. Sir 
John immediately informed the lord mayor, who instantly sent an 
■officer to invite Mr. Jay to the cross-table, where he was received 
■with the distinction due to his character as the American representa- 
tive. 1 had not the pleasure of being acquainted with Mr. Jay, and 
never saw him afterward. 

Mr. West was mild and respectful in his manners. He was very 
tsusceptible of jocularity, and told a story with humour. In his serious 
narratives, while he always kept in view the main features, he never 
lost sight of those particulars which tended to render the subject more 
perspicuous, or to illustrate the character to which it essentially re- 
lated. His account of the origin and progress of Washington, which 
I have heard him more than once relate, was interesting to a very 
high degree. 

As an artist, it would be presumptuous in me to offer my opinion of 
Iiim, as his works are before the world, and have firmly established 
his reputation. The vast number of his productions, and the variety 
of the subjects, demonstrate the force of his mind and the power of 
his imagination. The extensive collection of his works and their gen- 
eral merit ought to have rendered them a national feature, and it is 
by no means a credit to the American government that it declined 
to purchase them in their combined state, as they might have been 
had for a sum that a government must be supposed well able to afford. 
Besides, such a collection would not only have been a national school 
for a rising country, but have been an honouF|to America, of which 
the artist w'as a native. 

I am sorry to observe that the hostility towards West and his works» 



ME. WEST, PRES. R. A. WALKING STEWART. 16S 

which appears in the poems of Dr. Wolcot, was not creditable to him, 
even as a critic, and was evidently the result of his partiality to Opie, 
not without just grounds of suspicion that he was actuated by inter- 
ested motives. Mr. West was by no means illiberal in his comments 
on the works of rival artists, but on the contrary was a warm patron 
of rising talents. He zealously encouraged the promising talents of 
the late Mr. Harlowe, who, if his private qualities had entitled him as 
much to respect as his genius did to admiration, would have stood 
high in the esteem of all lovers of art. Mr. West was an affectionate 
husband and father, and he was chosen president of the Royal Acad- 
emy on account of his personal worth, as well as because he was 
deemed, from his general skill, judgment, and knowledgCj the best 
-qualified to succeed Sir Joshua Reynolds. 

When Mr. West brought forward his picture of" Christ Rejected," 
it was purchased by many noblemen and other admirers of the fine 
arts. As a grateful return for their liberal protection, he had a medal 
struck, on one side of which was a profile of his face, and on the other 
a list of his subscribers. He presented one of these medals to me 
with the following letter, which I preserve with pride as the relic 
of a friend and a man of extraordinary genius : — 

Mr. West presents his respects to his friend John Taylor, Esq., and 
requests that he will honour Mr. West by accepting the enclosed 
medal as a token of his great respect (as a friend for many years), 
and to keep it in his possession as a mark of that friendship. 

Nefrman-street, Julj 19, 1816. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 

John Stewakt, the traveller. With this gentleman, who was 
generally known by the name of Walking Stewart, I was intimately 
acquainted for many years, and I never knew a man with more dif- 
fusive benevolence, for he not only felt an interest in the welfare of 
mankind, but of all sensitive nature. He thought it loss of time to spec- 
ulate on the origin of worlds. As Socrates was said to have brought 
philosophy down from heaven, it may be said of Stewart also, that 
he endeavoured to inculcate such doctrines as should induce human 
beings to promote the happiness of each other, and to consider that 
object as the chief interest as well as duty of man. 

He held that there was a perpetual revolution in nature, and that, 
^s Pope says, 

*« ^11 forms that perish other forms supply ;" 
objecting, however, to the word perish, considering death as only the 



164 llECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

dispersion of matter, and that it always would be connected with 
sensation. Hence he maintained that it was the eternal interest of 
man to exempt as much as possible all sensitive beings from pain, as, 
"when he had lost the human form, he would become a part of all in- 
ferior animals of every description, and consequently the matter of 
■which he once consisted would bear a portion of the pain inflicted 
upon beings susceptible of physical evil to a certain degree. For in- 
stance, in the case of a hackney horse, if you could induce those per- 
sons under whose control it might fall, to treat the animal kindly, they 
might be less liable to pain when they became a part of such an ani- 
mal ; and so of all other beings that might be brought under the gov- 
ernment of man. 

He used to enforce this system with a vast variety of illustrationSsr 
and with a powerful command of language. His father was an 
eminent linen-draper in Bond-street, who placed him at the Charter- 
house for a classical education, and in due time procured for him a 
writership in the service of the East India Company. After being 
some time in India, and discovering, as he conceived, many enormous 
abuses in our Asiatic settlements, he wrote to the directors at homCp. 
stating all those abuses and pointing out the means of remedy, Na 
notice, as m.ight be expected, was taken of his letter, and he wrote 
again, signifying that if the directors did not remove these abuses^ 
"which were injurious to the company and disgraceful to the British 
character, he should think himself privileged to relinquish the service^, 
and seek employment among the native powers. 

Finding all his efforts ineffectual, he quitted the British settlements^, 
but was pursued, and refusing to return, he was actually shot, though 
not severely. He was then forced to return, but found an opportu- 
nity of escape. He was taken prisoner by the troops of Hyder Ally,. 
and when brought to that potentate, was told by him that, if he did 
not enter into his army, he should be treated as a spy. He was there- 
fore obliged to submit, in order to save his life, and was concerned 
in many actions under Hyder with other native powers. He was 
again wounded, but not materially. How long he remained in the 
service of Hyder, I know not. He afterward entered into the service 
of the Nabob of Arcot, in the civil department, and held the appoint- 
ment of treating secretary. His office was to receive, entertain, and 
otherwise accommodate all persons who came as ambassadors, or on 
any public mission to the nabob. In this service he expended a great 
part of what he possessed, and the nabob was in arrears for salary to 
liim to a very considerable amount. 

Seeing no hope of being reimbursed, he determined to return to 
Europe, and resolved to visit Persia in his way home ; but, finding 
that the Persian monarch was at war with a neighbouring power, he 
endeavoured to procure a passage in a mercantile vessel that was 
leaving the country. Being considered an infidel, he w^as not suffered 
to take his passage in the vessel, lest some evil should befall the captain 
and his crew, but a cage was provided for him on the side of the ship» 
He was exposed to the spray of the sea for a fortnight, but was pro* 



WALKING STEWART. 165 

Tided with food every day, and suffered no other inconvenience than 
that of being in such an uncomfortable situation. He then visited 
various countries, and among others Lapland, in which he went a 
mile and a half beyond the place marked as the utmost limit of human 
visitation. 

When I was first introduced to him in this country, he wore the 
Armenian habit. He continued to wear it till it was w^orn out, and 
then assumed the usual European attire. When he first returned 
from India, he possessed'about 3000Z. ; how acquired I know not, but, 
I have no doubt, with perfect integrity, for he was a truly honest and 
honourable man ; probably in the service of Hyder Ally, and other 
native princes, to whom he had rendered himself useful, for his 
knowledge was so various and extensive that he seemed to be ac- 
quainted with the secrets of all trades and callings. After trying 
various means to dispose of the major part of what he brought from 
India, he deposited it in the French funds, not long before the revo- 
lution. He was, I believe, to receive an annuity of 3001., part of 
which was actually paid to him during the time of the revolutionary 
government; at length however it was wholly withdrawn. But 
with what he retained of his Asiatic acquirement he went to America ; 
and on his return to this country was so reduced in his circumstances, 
that he was wholly dependent for support on a humane and respect- 
able tradesman in the borough of South vvark, who had married his 
sister. 

In America he supported himself by delivering lectures upon his 
system, as to its being the interest of man, in what he styled the 
state of personal identity, to exercise benevolence to every specieis 
of animal wherever he might have the opportunity. During his stay 
in America, he was reduced to so low a state as to solicit a very rich 
man to suffer him to sit by his kitchen fire, and aliov/ him a johnny- 
cake daily for food. This johnny-cake, he said, was the value of a 
halfpenny ; yet this rich man, who had known him in India, refused 
to grant either of his requests. 

He at length returned to England, and threw himself again upon 
the protection of his brother-in-law. His sister, I believe, was dead. 
On the settlement of the affairs of the Nabob of Arcot, about sixteen 
thousand pounds were awarded to Stewart, after some difficulty ii 
proving the justness of his claims. He then discharged all his pecu- 
niary obligations to his brother-in-law, and some few debts, which, 
with all his moderation, he could not avoid contracting. 

Previous to this decision in his favour, he lodged at the White 
Bear, in Piccadilly, and I believe gratuitously, for the landlord had a 
great respect for him, and when I went to inquire for him, he always 
expressed an anxious wish for his return from America, and his readi- 
ness to afford him every accommodation. After his return from 
America, finding that the French revolutionary principles appeared 
to be gaining ground, and thinking that they were likely to destroy 
all regular governments, and to give an ascendency to the mob, he 
again departed for America, considering that country as the only 

H3 



^66 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

•secure asylum for the friends of order and rational freedom. He 
was, however, a friend to monarchy and legislative government; 
and even maintained that the authority of the laws, while not incon- 
sistent with the civil liberty of the subject, should be rigidly enforced. 
He considered me as one of his most particular friends, and used 
to visit me every Sunday morning for some years. I have many of 
his letters, which generally commenced in the following manner : 
*' Dear fel!ov/-part of our common integer, Nature," which I always 
endeavoured to answer in the same style. He published many 
works, most of which I possess. They are written in so lofty a style 
as to be generally unintelligible, particularly in the use of scientific 
terms with a novel application. His first %vork was entitled " Travelss 
to discover the Source of Moral Motion ;" and he laughed when 
people inquired as to the manners, customs, dress, or governments 
of the several countries he had visited, declaring that his purpose was 
to ascertain what were the principles of justice and morality which 
were held as standard rules in all places. 

People with good understandings, who did not take the trouble of 
examining his doctrines, deterred by the peculiarity of the language, 
too hastily concluded that he was insane ; but those who did examine 
them revered his understanding and admired his benevo^.ence. In 
conversation he made his most difficult works clear by the aptness 
and variety of his illustrations. Though his mind appeared to be 
wholly absorbed in his doctrines, yet he seemed te be well acquainted 
■with human nature, and his advice upon most subjects evinced so 
much knowledge and judgment, that he was never consulted on any 
matter of familiar life and business without advantage ; and I heard 
a very intelligent lady, who was one of his great admirers, say, that 
she believed he could give the best directions even for " the making 
of a pudding." 

When his claims on the nabob were satisfied, he immediately pur- 
<;hased an annuity for his life, and, as I heard, too hastily, for he 
might have obtained better terms if he had waited ; but he had ex- 
perienced the vicissitudes of life, and security was his chief object. 
He took apartments in Cockspur-street, and invited a few select 
friends to dine with him every Sunday, and I was always a favourite 
guest. After dinner, and before the wine was removed, he usually 
gave a lecture upon his own peculiar doctrines, but observing that 
his guests entered into general conversation, and did not appear to 
be very attentive to his discourse, he gave up the dinners, and sub- 
stituted evening parties to tea and music, to which both sexes were 
invited : he engaged public performers to assist on the occasion, and 
his parties were usually well attended. 

He was very fond of music, and purchased annual tickets at the 
theatres, but chiefly where he could hear most music, not caring the 
least for dramatic performances, or the words which accompanied 
the music. 

Dramatic scenes of bloodshed he abhorred, and used to ask what 
^iiiipression the murders of Richard and Macbeth could be supposed 



WALKING STEWART. 167 

to make on him who had lived under tyrants in the east, whem 
human life was never secure, and where not only families of all ranks, 
but whole districts have been swept off in a moment. 

He deluded himself into a belief that his system of philosophy was 
so important, that it would in time become universally prevalent. 
He had an intention of having his name engraved on a projecting 
rock in the Atlantic, in the largest characters the place would admit, 
in order that passengers in ships, seeing the name, might be induced 
to examine his principles. He affected singularity in his dress, in 
order that, by attracting attention to his person, he might bring his 
doctrines into notice. He always dressed in black, and wore a 
spencer throughout the summer. He generally stuffed a red pocket- 
handkerchief into his breast, but in such a manner that part of it 
might be seen. I asked him why he did so. He said it looked 
buckish, attracted attention, and would consequently lead spectators; 
to inquire into his doctrines, and thus give them a chance of being 
universally current. 

He never liked to talk upon the subject of religion, because he did 
not wish to shake the religious opinions of any person, considering 
that they operate, like law, as a restrain upon irregular passions. In 
contradiction to those intelligent persons who, thinking him insane, 
would not take the trouble to examine his doctrines, I may state 
what was said of him by Mr. Combe, whose intellectual powers were 
of a high order. He told me that when he met Mr. Stewart in the 
street, and had some conversation with him, he never went away 
without feeling his mind enlarged. 

Mr. Walker, author of " The Pronouncing Dictionary," and of 
many valuable Vi^orks, once met Stewart at my house in Hatton 
-Garden. They began to converse, and Walker, who, though a rigid 
Roman Catholic, was a very sensible man, quoted something from 
Scripture, which Stewart, being rather deaf, did not hear, for other- 
wise he would have thought a reference to Holy Writ, upon a philoso- 
sophical subject so absurd that he would not have thought Walker 
worthy of any farther conversation. I contrived, however, to keep 
them upon the subject of the improvement of the mind, which was a 
primary object of both, and they parted in mutual good-humour. 

If he were not questioned on the subject of the manners, customs, 
&c. of the various countries which he had visited, he would give very 
interesting relations upon those subjects, which otherwise he consi- 
dered as too trifling to deserve notice. In these relations he displayed 
great humour, and admirable powers of mimicry and versatility, 
particularly in imitating the tone and manners of foreigners. How 
he could have obtained this knowledge, it is difficult to say, considering 
his abstraction from the ordinary concerns of life ; it seemed like 
intuition. 

Unwilling to press too much upon the kindness of his brother-in- 
law, he thought of studying and acting the part of Macheath, and to 
engage the Haymarket theatre for that purpose, conceiving that the 
singularity of his character would bring a full house. The fortunate 



KECORnS OP MY LIFE. 

adjustment of his claims upon the nabob, however, frustrated his 
design. 

Sadler's Wells, Astley's, and other minor theatres, were the places 
■where he thought he could hear most music ; but if any scenes of 
horror and bloodshed occurred during the performance, he always 
turned his back upon the stage. 

Though he was so well acquainted with mankind, he was so little 
inclined to suspicion, that when a person addressed him in the Park, 
and entered into conversation with him, without learning who or what 
he was, he invited him to his dinner parties. Luckily the person 
was an American of r«spectable character. 

He accounted for the earnestness with which he examined all sub- 
jects, and his great inclination to habits of reflection, by stating that 
his mother kept him under such strict discipline in the early part of 
his life, that even in putting down his hat, or doing any trifling action 
during her superintendence, he felt himself obliged to consider whether 
he should act in a manner that she would approve.* 

In fine mornings he used to seat himself on Westminster Bridge^ 
in order to contemplate the passing crowd. Mr. Combe told me that 
he used to meet him for the purpose of engaging jU conversation with 
him, and assured me that he never left Stewart without feeling hir 
own mind enlarged by Stewart's acute remarks and profound reflec- 
tions. Yet Combe was not likely to underrate his own powers, and 
■was very capable of estimating those of others. 

On Stewart's death, as a bottle was found empty in his bed-room 
which had contained laudanum, it was surmised that he purposely de- 
•troyed himself; but however circumstances might seem to justify 
such a suspicion, I never could give credit to it ; for I am persuaded he 
thought his life of so much importance to man and all animals to 
which sensitive matter might be united, that he would have been glad 
to have had it extended till he saw -the triumph of his benignant 
principles. He made two wills, one,of which he had signed, and the 
other of a later date, which he intended to sign, and get attested the 
day after, but he died, as it appeared, suddenly in the night. By the 
latter will he had left fifty pounds to me, but the former was, of course, 
adopted. He had a complete command over his passions ; when he 
was tempted towards any licentious indulgence, from which he had 
no religious principles to restrain him, he used to pause and consider 
how the money which it would cost him might be better employed. 
He then used to explore the haunts of poverty, and purchase in the 
neighbourhood articles of dreis for the children that he saw in them; 
and give the parents money to buy food. He would, however, stay 
to see that it was devoted to the purpose for which he had bestowed it.- 
So intent was he upon the diffusion of his principles, that he actually 
•walked to Edinburgh for the sole purpose of discussing them with 

* It is strange that Dr. Wolcot, thoagh so daring in his satirical attacks npoii 
public characters, told me that he was kept under rigid control by two aunts, who 
cowed his spirit to such a degree, that though he had long^beea released from thw? 
tystmaji he never should think himself a man. 



OPIE THE FAINTER. 169 

the late Dugald Stewart, •who happened at that time to be at a dis- 
tance. His death deprived the world of an amiable man, and me of 
a sincere friend. 



CHAPTER XXy. 

Mr. John Opie, R. A. This artist was one of those whom nature 
ordains to rise into eminence, notwithstanding the lowness and ob- 
scurity of their origin. He was the son of a carpenter in Cornwall^ 
and, at an early period, discovered a propensity to drawing, which his 
father did not discourage. Dr. Wolcot, having heard of the boy, and 
being fond of painting, .desired to see him. For that purpose he went 
to the father's house, where he asked for John, and the boy presented 
himself. The doctor desired to see his drawings, and he ran across 
the yard to fetch them. Wolcot told me that he should always have 
in his ears the sound of the boy's leather apron clattering between 
his knees, as he ran eagerly to bring the proofs of his graphic skill. 
Hough and uncouth as these specimens of his talents were, the doctor 
•was persuaded that he saw indications of a genius which deserved 
cultivation. He therefore took him into his own house at Fowey^^^ 
and gave him ail the instruction in his power. 

Opie made such rapid improvement under the doctor's tuition, that 
he had soon the courage to offer himself to the inhabitants as a 
portrait-painter. His efforts were encouraged, but his gains at first 
were very small. I believe his original price was five shillings for a 
likeness. The next price was half-a-guinea, and he raised his de- 
mand in his progress to Exeter, where he boldly required a guineSj, 
and then thought himself in the high road to affluence. He hved many 
years with Dr. Wolcot, as •well as I can recollect, with whom h& 
profited in literature as well as in painting. 

Opie possessed a strong mind, and a retentive memory. He sooia 
became conversant with Shakspeare and Dryden, and both under- 
stood and felt their beauties. He did not improve in his manners in 
proportion to his other attainments, for a blunt sincerity always 
characterized his behaviour. He had a strong sense of humour, and 
was capable of lively sallies, as well as of shrewd and forcible re- 
marks. He readily acknowledged the merit of his competitors, par- 
ticularly Sir Joshua Reynolds, and I never saw the least symptom 
of envy in his disposition. I was very intimate with him for many 
years, during the life of his wife ; but as his second wife introduced 
new connexions, and a coolness had arisen between him and Dr. 
Wolcot, and as I was upon the most friendly footing with the doctor^ 
I did not think it proper to keep up a close intercourse with both, snd 
therefore seldom saw Opie again till during the illness which termi* 
nated in his death. 



170 RECOKDS OV MY LITE. 

It was reported that a written compact had taken place between 
the doctor and Opie, in which the latter had agreed to give a certain 
share of his profits to the former, for the instruction which he had de- 
rived from him, as well as for his board, lodging, and other supplies 
while they had lived together. I believe this report was not wholly 
unfounded, and that the compact was dissolved by the interference 
of the father of Opie's first wife, which induced tlie doctor, in anger 
and disgust, to relinquish all claims upon the successful artist. The 
consequence was the coolness which I have mentioned ; and after 
this adjustment, Wolcot and Opie seldom, if ever, met again. 

It must be admitted, that Opie was much indebted to Wolcot for 
his early patronage, and afterward for his zealous literary support, 
particularly in his "Odes to the Royal Academicians." Indeed, there 
is too much reason to believe that the doctor's unjust and persevering 
attacks upon the works of Mr. West were indirectly intended as a 
sacrifice to the rising reputation of Opie. It was not to be expected 
that Opie would object to this poetical incense in his favour, because 
he had to rise among innumerable competitors ; yet, from all I ob- 
served of his disposition, I am persuaded he was too liberal to excite, 
or to encourage the doctor in his severity on others, i)articularly on 
Mr. West, of whose talents and knowledge in his art he has often 
spoken to me with respect. 

His rustic habits were too firmly fixed for him wholly to subdue 
them, yet nobody could better conceive what a gmjtleman should be ; 
and during the latter years of his life, he endeavoured, and not with- 
out success, to illustrate his conception by his manners. His rough 
sincerity, however, was not merely the effect of his early associations 
with rustic society, for much of it was doubtless imputable to his do- 
mestic intercourse \vith Dr. Wolcot. The latter was vigorous in his 
manners, and according to the adage, that " everything begets its like," 
there is a contagion in temper from which it is difficult to escape ia 
close association. 

There is a well- written sketch of the life and character of Opie, in 
a very amusing work entitled " The Family Library," but as the 
author did not know the man, he has fallen into some mistakes. I do 
not believe, as that author states, that Opie was ever a menial servant 
of W^olcot's, but lived with him as a pupil and a companion. If he 
had lived with him in such a servile capacity, I am sure the doctor's 
pride and subsequent resentment would have induced him to state the 
fact. The first anger of Wolcot against Opie, as the former told me, 
arose at finding that Opie had supplanted him in the affections of a 
favourite female servant, " but," said the doctor, " I forgave him, as I 
knew, with Shakspeare, that ' Frailty, thy name is Woman,' " 

That Opie was indebted to Wolcot for support and instruction 
during many years before he came to London, must be admitted. 
The doctor, therefore, might look for some remuneration from the 
compact into which they had mutually entered, and which he was || 
reluctantly and resentfully induced to relinquish by the interposition, |' 
as I have said, of the father of Opie's first wife. 



OPIB THE PAINTER DR. WOLCOT. 171 

The biographical sketch -which I have mentioned imputes to "Wol- 
cot a habit of swearing, but I can truly say, that during the long 
period I was acquainted with him (with some intervention), I never 
observed him swear more than people in general do when much es- 
cited ; and that it was by no means his habit : strange, indeed, as the 
assertion may appear, I think no man had higher notions of a gentle- 
man in the abstract, or even of romantic attachment to female 
beauty and merit, than Dr. Wolcot. 

I remember one evening when I had been much irritated, and 
" perplexed in the extreme," by some untoward event, and expressed 
myself with too much vehemence, the doctor rebuked me, and said, 
•*' Taylor, be always elegant — never lose sight of the gentleman." 

It is impossible to excuse his wanton attacks upon the good old 
King George the Third ; but it is a disgrace to the public, that the 
success of those attacks should have tempted him to persevere in them. 
I am reluctant to palliate, in any respect, these indecent and disloyal 
levities, to use the mildest term, upon so amiable and benevolent a 
king ; but I can venture solemnly to say that the doctor entertained 
the highest notion of the kingly character, and it v/as therefore be- 
cause our revered monarch did not reach to his beau ideal of what a 
monarch should be, that he continued his satirical hostility. Indeed, 
it must be admitted, that pecuniary advantage was not without its 
influence on his mind ; for though he possessed landed property, it was 
but small, and with httle practice in his profession, if any, he might 
iind it necessary to profit by his writings. He had, however, in the 
beginning, but little encouragement to proceed in his poetical career, 
for he assured me that his first " Odes on the Royal Academy" failed 
in attracting public notice, spirited and original as they must be 
deemed ; the publication cost him forty pounds. 

I have often wondered at the boldness of his attacks on the royal 
character, and his general license of satire, as he was naturally, by 
his own acknowledgment, by no means of an heroic disposition ; but 
he was seduced by popular favour and its consequent pecuniary profit. 
He was once, indeed, so alarmed at the report that the law ofiicers 
of government were disposed to notice his attempts to degrade the 
royal character, that he actually, as he told me, made preparations to 
depart suddenly for America ; but, on reflection, determined to stay 
till legal proceedings had positively been commenced against him. 

It has often been observed that his genius would have been more 
distinguished if he had employed his muse on some large work, rather 
than on temporary sallies; but genius must pursue its natural bent, and 
his did not incline towards elaborate compositions. 

Opie, like most of the artists whom 1 have known, was afraid of 
the sarcastic powers of Fuseli, and therefore became intimately con- 
nected with him. To this fear, I am disposed to think, Fuseh was 
indebted for the several places which he was permitted to hold in the 
Royal Academy. Yet I know that Opie despised the works of Fuseli, 
though he was awed by the venom of his tongue, which spared neither 
friend nor foe. 



172 EECORDS OV MY LIFB. 

A few more words on Fuseli, and he deserves but few. His works- 
are in general distortions, and no person of sound taste would ever 
afford them house-room. I remember that Opie said to me of Fuseli's^ 
picture of a scene in Hamlet, representing the ghost of Hamlet's father^ 
" The Royal Dane," that the ghost reminded him of those figures over 
the dials of chamber-clocks, which move by starts, according to the 
movements of the works within. In my opinion a very apt compar- 
ison, notwithstanding the opinion of my friend Mr. Combe (Dr. Syn- 
tax), who said of this picture that it gave him the only idea whicb 
painting had ever suggested to him of an apparition. 

Dr. Wolcot said of Fuseli's representation of a scene in " The Mid- 
summer Night's Dream," that the number of wild fantastic figure* 
scattered over it made it look exactly like a toy-shop. I never liked 
Fuseli, and, fearless of his satire, never concealed my opinion. The 
late Mr. Farington, an excellent artist and a worthy and intelligent 
man, knew that Fuseli was no favourite with me, and anxious to serve 
him, he came and invited me to meet him at dinner, bringing with 
him Fuseli's lectures, which had just been published, and requesting 
that I would take extracts from them for insertion in a public journal 
which I then conducted. He said, " I know you do not hke Fuseli^ 
but when I tell you that he is in but indifferent circumstances, I know 
you will meet and endeavour to serve him." I met him, and the late 
Sir George Beaumont was of the party. The mild and elegant man- 
ners of that amiable baronet had an influence upon Fuseli, who en- 
deavoured to make himself agreeable, and the day passed off very 
pleasantly. 

Not long after I met FuseU in company, and he asked me when I 
had seen Farington, and having told him that it was some time ago,,, 
he said, loud enough for the company to hear him, " Then he don't 
want a puff." Such was his gratitude to the liberal friend who had 
interfered in his favour. 

Another time I dined with him at the house of Mr. Boaden, a gen- 
tleman well known in the literary world. Mr. Colman and Mr» 
Charles Kemble were among the company. Fuseli, being asked for 
a toast, gave " Peter Pindar." When his turn came to drink his own 
toast, he refused, saying, " I give him as a toast, but I will not drink 
to his honour." Stupid as this conduct was, his admirers, perhaps,^ 
may consider his answer as a bon mot. 

1 could say much more respecting Fuseli, but as it would not be m 
his favour, I check my pen, wondering, however, that, as an artist or 
a wit, he could have ever been the subject either of fear or panegyric ^ 
though he certainly was the subject of fear on account of his sarcastic 
disposition, and to that probably, as I have said, he was indebted for 
admission into the Royal Academy, and for the situations in it that 
were conferred on him. 

To return to Opie. He had great power of raillery, and I have- 
"witnessed a contest between him and Dr. Wolcot, who uttered very 
strong things, when Opie maintained his part so well as to render the 
victory doubtful. They were neither of them sparing in personal 
severity, but never came to a serious quarrel. 



MRS. OPIE. 17S 

It has been said that Opie was slow in commending the works of 
his competitors, but, as far as I had an opportunity of observing his 
character, I was induced to form a contrary opinion. I know that 
he bestowed liberal praise on the productions of the late Mr. Owen^ 
end also on those of Northcote. Pie always spoke in terms of the 
highest commendation of Sir Joshua Reynolds, and I remember that;, 
alluding to a scene painted by that great artist from " The Midsummer 
Night's Dream," he expressed the utmost delight at the contemplative 
posture in which Bottom is represented with the ass's head, leaning 
on his arm in pensive meditation. In fact, I have heard him as warm 
in praising contemporary productions in his art, as in his admiration 
of his favourite poets Shakspeare and Dryden. 

It has been observed also that little has been said respecting his 
first wife. I knew her well, and am disposed to speak more with 
regret than severity on the cause which deprived her of her husbands 
Opie was devoted to his art, to which he chiefly and almost solely 
seemed to direct his attention. He had many visiters, and among 
them some, perhaps, who took advantage of his professional absorp- 
tion, and flattered his young and agreeable wife. She was a pretty 
little woman, with pleasing and unaffected manners. Being left mucb 
to herself, and at liberty to go abroad when and where she pleased, it 
was not wonderful that, comparing the unavoidable neglect of her 
husband with the persevering attention of a gallant, she should mani- 
fest the frailty of human nature. A Major Edwards was the successful 
gallant, and after the separation from Opie was legally confirmed, he 
married her, a strong proof in support of her expected fidelity. He 
died-, and, as I have heard, left her in respectable independence. 
Since the death of the major I have heard that she has constantly 
resided with her brother, who holds some military employment, and 
that she always accompanies him wherever he may be called by his 
military duty. I was well acquainted with her, and introduced my 
former wife to her, which assuredly I should not have done if I had 
observed any incorrectness of conduct or manners. 

Mr. Opie's second wife has rendered herself so conspicuous m 
society by her literary talents and accomplishments in private life,: 
that no eulogium on my part can add to the general estimation in 
which her character is held. I knev/ her a little before her marriagCp. 
and saw in the lively girl a promise of those talents which have beers 
since so- much and so deservedly admired. She evinced her regard 
for the memory of her husband by giving his remains an honourable 
and splendid funeral, which I was invited to attend, among some of 
the most distinguislied literary characters and eminent artists of the 
time, and the body was deposited in the vaults of St. Paul's Cathedra], 
She also employed the elder Mr. Smirke to design an appropriate 
memorial, from which an excellent print was engraved, and distributed 
among the numerous friends and connexions who had been invited to 
Jhe mournful ceremony of interment. 

Such was the close of Opie's life, a man who raised himself into 
merited distinction and comparative affluence by great original powers^ 



174 RECORDS Off MY LIPE. 

and who, if he had possessed the advantage of being born in a higher 
station, and also of liaving had his mind cultivated in early life, would, 
most probably, have distinguished himself in any province to which 
his talents might have been directed that demanded the great intel- 
lectual energy. 

As a proof that his mind w^as of no ordinary cast, I have heard Mr. 
Northcote, a profound judge of human nature, say of Opie, that his 
mind was superior to that of any other person whom he ever knew, 
and that all other men were children to him. As Opie was more 
intimate with Northcote than with any other person, and as the latter 
had full opportunities of estimating his character, the testimony of so 
acute and intelligent a man may well be received without hesitation. 
On the other hand, I can with equal truth declare, that Opie enter- 
tained the highest opinion of the mental powers and professional 
merits of Mr. Northcote, as is evident from the intimate intercourse 
which subsisted between thsm, for they were together almost every 
evening at each other's houses. 

Northcote had the advantage of a good education, and had improved 
his mind by travelling to Rome, that great repository of the arts, as 
well as to most places in Italy and France celebrated for the posses- 
sion of graphic treasures ; and Opie, with great original powers, 
came under the description which Hesiod gives of those who, by 
their own intellectual faculties, can discern what is right and fit by a 
kind of intuitive perception. Icould say much more on this subject, 
but as one of these friends is living, I might, perhaps, be suspected of 
jQatlery to him, though I can confidently declare, that in what I have 
said of both, I have been wholly influenced by sincerity and con- 
viction. I may, however, say something more of Mr. Northcote,, 
whom I knew long before I was acquainted with Opie, and as his i 
mental powers and professional merits are so well known, I need not 
fear that I shall be biassed by the zeal of friendship. 

As this gentleman, besides the advantage of foreign travel, where i 
he had abundant opportunities of beholding. and studying the besti 
examples of graphic excelfence, was -many years under the same roof I 
with Sir Joshua Reynolds, he must have proved an enlightened and I 
instructive companion to his friend Opie'. The house of Sir Joshua,, 
in Leicester Square, might well be considered as the temple ofl 
genius and taste. It was visited by the most distinguished characterai 
of the time. Johnson, Burke, Garrick, Colman, and indeed the' 
"whole galaxy of celebrated scholars and wits were its constant; 
visiters, Mr. Northcote, being long an inmate in the house, and! 
bringing a mind capable of comprehending and sharing in the con- 
versation, must have laid ' in intellectual treasures of the most valua- 
ble description. Hence it was impossible that Mr. Opie could have 
found a friend and companion who could have contributed more to 
the refinement of his taste, to the improvement of his manners, and 
the enlargement of his knowledge. 

The value of Mr. Northcote's conversation is evident in a publica- 



MR. NORTHCOTE. 175 

tion by the late Mr. Hazlitt, an author of well-known merit, who has 
detailed the opinions and remarks of the. former in a volume which 
must be deemed a very interesting and instructive work, not only for 
the student in art, but to the general reader. It would not become 
me to obtrude my opinion of Mr. Northcote's professional merits, nor 
is it necessar)^ as his reputation has long been established by the most 
enlightened judges. His success as a portrait-painter has been con- 
siderable, and has afforded him an independence that enables him to 
regard with indiiference, if not contempt, the fluctuations of taste and 
the caprices of fashion. As an historical painter he stands pre-emi- 
nent among the artists of this country ; and if it were not necessary 
for those who were not born in the lap of affluence to provide against 
the instability of fortune, it might well be regretted, for the sake of 
the ornamental character of the country, that he had not confined his 
genius wholly to historical composition. 

It is gratifying to learn that many of his historical paintings adorn 
private cabinets, and that many of his altar-pieces embellish our 
sacred edifices ; and by the appropriate expression and dignity with 
which the respective subjects are treated, they may enforce the 
doctrines of truth, attract the attention of the dissolute, and confirm 
Che l^opes of the pious. 

Before I quit Mr. Northcote, I will subjoin a copy of a letter which 
I received from him soon after the publication of my two volumes of 
poems, as it shows the intrepid sincerity of the writer. 

My dear Mr. Taylor, 

1 can scarcely find words to express to you my admiration of your 

excellent prologues and epilogues, — so various, so witty, so moral, so 

natural, and so poetic. I wish the whole work had contained nothing 

else ; it would then have been, indeed, a jewel of the first water ; 

but when you make verses on Mr. , Mr. , Mr. Northcote, 

and Mr. , my God, what a change ! I no longer know the same 

author. It seems to me like a change in a farce, where we see a 
regal throne quickly turned into a wheelbarrow, &c. ; or as if some- 
body had blown your brains cut. If ever you write any more verses 
ypon me, pray suppose me to be either a tragedy or a comedy, and 
make a prologue or an epilogue for me ; and I dare say that Mr. 

• and Mr. will join me in my petition on the occasion. But 

I can easily account for the great difference. When you write a 
prologue or an epilogue, you feel all the terror of that powerful and 
remorseless beast, a full assembled audience, before your eyes, which 
keeps you tremblingly alive in fear of immediate pubUc shame. But 
when you write verses to flatter a fool, you sleep over them, and 
think any thing is good enough. Wishing you much success in your 
publication, and ia every other way, I remain always. 

My dear sir. 
Your sincere friend and very humble servant, • 

James Northcotb. 



176 RECOKDf OF MY IIFE. 

Pray remember to present my most respectful compliments to 
Mrs. Taylor, whose approbation of my picture of Christ gave me 
real pleasure, as it was given with so much feeling. 

Argyle Place, 
August 18Lh, 1827. ' 

I insert this letter with the permission of the author, who would 
readily have consented to the introduction of the names of the artists 
referred to if I could have thought proper. 



CHAPTER XXVI. 

Mr. RrcHATiD Owen Cambridge. My intercourse with this gen- 
tleman was of so slight a nature, that I can have no reason to intro- 
duce him into, this work except from my sincere respect for his char- 
acter, talents, attainments, and compositions ; but he held so high a 
reputation, and upon such solid grounds, that it is a kind of duty tO' 
pay a respectful tribute to his memory. I had the pleasure of being^ 
introduced to him by my old friend Dr. Monsey, and of dining with 
him at the governor's table at Chelsea Hospital, when there was 
nobody present but the doctor, Mr. Cambridge, and myself I was 
then well acquainted with the literary productions of Mr. Cambridge^ 
and was therefore particularly attentive to every thing he said ; and 
I now sincerely regret that I had not, early in life, conceived the 
design of the present work, for then I should have endeavoured to 
retain in my memory many observations and events perhaps of 
much greater importance than any I have now been able to record. 

As Dr. Monsey had seldom an opportunity of seeing Mr. Cam- 
bridge, and was sufficiently aware of the value of his guest, he gave 
the rein of conversation entirely to him, and was as attentive as my- 
self. Part of the conversation passed on the politics of the day, but 
was soon transferred to literary topics, which seemed to be the 
favourite subjects with Mr. Cambridge. Unhappily, the cares and 
troubles of the world have demanded too much of my attention to 
admit of accurate recollections of innumerable circumstances which 
have occurred in the course of a long-protracted life. But I deem 
it an honour to have known Mr. Cambridge, and am proud of the 
opportunity of introducing his name on the present occasion. 

I remember that in speaking of Don Quixote, he declared he con- 
sidered it one of the greatest productions of the human mind, and 
supported his opinions with reasons which it would be much for 
my advantage if I could recollect. He seemed to think that Gold 
smith had been overrated as a poet, but spoke very favourably of 
his prose works. He said he thought the best lines in all Gold 
smith's poetical works were his character of Garrick in " Retalia 



MR. CAMBRIDGE. 177 

lion," as nicely discriminated, humorously combined, and admirably 
appropriate." 

Dr. Monsey, with whom Mr. Cambridge's poem- of " The Scrib- 
bleriad" was a great favourite, mentioned it with high praise, and ex- 
pressed his surprise that it was not more a favourite with the world 
at large. Mr. Cambridge spoke of it modestly, as a work that had 
given him little trouble, and said that it was chiefly composed while 
he was under the hands of his hairdresser. The remark of the doc- 
tor, whether suggested on that or any other occasion, induced Mr. 
Cambridge to send him the .following jew d'esprit, which I insert with 
pleasure, as it is so complimentary to the taste and judgment of my 
old friend, who was himself an excellent humorous poet. 

TO DOCTOR MONSEY, 
Physician to Chelsea Hospital, 

Upon his expressing his surprise that " The Scribblenad" teas not more hiown and 

talked of. 

Dear doctor, did you ever hear I had 

So piqued myself on " Tlio Scribbleriad," 

That every pensioner of Chelsea 

The learning and the wit should well see ? 

Enough for me if only "one see, 

But let that one be Doctor Monsey. 

It is not in my power to do justice to " The Scribbleriad," which 
is really a work not only of " learning and wit," to use the words of 
Ihe author, but of rare and profound learning, as well as of great 
humour and poetical merit. The object is to ridicule false learning, 
absurd inventions, superstition, and the general follies of mankind, 
t is little creditable to the taste of the public that such a work should 
Qot have become popular, and it may fairly be said, that the fault is 
not the want of any intellectual power in the author, but in the igno- 
ance and want of taste in the readers. 

When Archdeacon Cambridge published the life and works of 
lis venerable father, there appeared in a certain northern vehicle 
)f criticism, remarkable for vanity and dashing audacity, a very flip- 
pant account of the publication. It was my intention to have written 
in answer to this frivolous and unjust attack upon the works of so 
iccomphshed a scholar and so excellent a poet as Mr. Cambridge j 
)ut reflecting that I was no match for the young gentlemen that were 
hen reported to be the conductors of that source of northern aspe- 
ity, self-conceit, and censorious violence, and that the archdeacon's 
ribute of filial respect to the memory of his father was a substantial 
[lonument of parental excellence that time could not impair, I de- 
isted from the rash undertaking. 

I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Cambridge a second time, and 
16 conversation chiefly related to Dr. Monsey. I afterward, for 
le last time, saw him walkins: arm in arm with Lord North, then 



178 BE€011I>S OP MY LIFE. 

prime minister, who seemed very attentive to him, and to be laughing 
at something which he was saying. 

My late friend Mr. Jerningham related to me the following 
whimsical anecdote, but did not vouch for the truth of it. Mr. Cam- 
bridge ■ had observed the following inscription over a hatter's shop 
just as the painter had finished the letters—" Good hats sold here." 
Crossing the way, and making a suitable apology, he politely addressed 
the master of the shop, observing that he hoped he would excuse his 
making a remark on the inscription. The hatter said he should be 
much obliged to him, and desired to hear what he had to say. " Why," 
said Mr. Cambridge, " the word ' good' seems unnecessary ; for if you 
did not sell good hats, no customer would come again." " True," 
said the hatter. *' Painter ! rub out good. Pray, sir, have you any 
thing more to say ? — I beseech you go on." " Why," said Mr. Cam- 
bridf^e, " the word ' hats' is certainly needless ; for if people looked at 
your shop-window, and saw nothing but hats, they would not expect 
to buy meat, or any thing but hats." " True, again," said the man. 
" Painter ! rub out hats. Well, sir, is all right now ?" " No, cer- 
tainly," rejoined Mr. Cambridge ; " the word ' sold' would be ridicu- 
lous if it were to remain, for nobody would expect you to give away 
your hats." "Very true," said the man. " Painter, rub out .wZcZ ;"' 
adding, " Now, sir, I suppose you" have no farther objection." " Yes^ 
one nTore " said Mr. Cambridge ; " the word ' here' is perfectly absurd 
by itself, for nobody would go to another shop to buy your hats.'" 
" Quite right," said the man. " Painter ! rub out here ;" and then he 
courteously thanked Mr. Cambridge for his kindness. 

Mr. James Cobb. Perhaps there never existed an individual who 
was more respectedjorwho more deserved respect, within his sphere 
of action, than this gentlenran. From his entrance as a clerk in the 
East India House, through all his official gradations till he became 
secretary to the Honourable East. India Company, he conciliated all 
who knew him by the mildness of his manners and the benevolence 
of his disposition ; and a line from Pope has been justly applied ta 
him as the reason why he was so much esteemed: — 

Because he's honest and the best of friends. 

He possessed talents that would have enabled him to make a dis- 
tint^uished figure in any superior station. His dramatic works mayi 
be referred to as evident proofs of his literary talents ; and though: 
all of them Succeeded and gave popularity to his name, no degree of;l 
public favour could inflate him with vanity, or lessen that modestyj 
which was an essential feature of his character. But his modestyi 
was perfectly consistent with a manly spirit, which exerted itself in; 
company with humour and intelligence. He was fond of the stage, 
and though he produced many dramatic works, they were all th& 
effusions of his leisure. 

He told me that Mr. Burke advised him, in all his dramatic com- 
positions, to study the dialogue of " Vanbrugh," and he doubtlea 



MR. JAMBS COBB MR. FKIX0B BlOARB. 

would have followed the counsel of so high an authority, if his pro» 
ductions had not been of a different kind from those of that cele- 
brated dramatist. He was fond of music, and sung M'ith great taste 
and impressive spirit. How well he could blend heroic with 
humorous characters, and supply suitable and appropriate dialogue 
to both, is evident in his " Siege of Belgrade," and his " Haunted 
Tower." 

His farces are marked by humour without extravagance, and his 
songs are characterized by sentiment, lyrical elegance, and pure 
humour, according to the subject. At the desire of Mr. Sheridan,^ 
he wrote a prelude on the removal of the Drury-lane company of 
actojs to the King's Theatre, preparatory to the rebuilding of the 
former. This prelude was written, but one whimsical stroke wag 
introduced by Mr. Sheridan. One of the characters, describing the 
difficulty of removing the scenes, &c., from Drury-lane Theatre, said 
that there was so pelting a storm in Chandos-streetj that they were 
obliged " to carry the rain under an umbrella." 

I could say more with strict justice, in favour of this gentleman, 
but his character is so amply and so justly portrayed in " A History 
of the Clubs of London," admirably written, and attributed to Mr. 
March, a barrister, and formerly in parliament, whom I have the 
pleasure of knowing, that 1 must refer the reader to that work for a 
spirited and faithful portrait of my esteemed and lamented friend 
James Cobb. 

Mr. Prince Hoaee. It is difficult to render even ordinary justice 
to living merit without incurring the suspicion of being influenced by 
partiaHty, or by motives of a less honourable nature. Yet, as what 
I shall say of this gentleman, whose friendship I have enjoyed for 
nearly forty years, and still possess in unabated cordiality, will be sup- 
ported by all who are acquainted with him, I am under no appre- 
hension of suffering by the suggestions of malice. 

Mr. Prince Hoare is. the son of Mr. Hoare, who was one of the 
original members of the Royal Academy, and the most eminent por- 
trait-painter in crayons of his time. Indeed this is too limited a tribute 
to his merit, for his excellence in crayon painting can never perhaps 
be excelled, though it possibly may be equalled. Mr. Prince Hoare 
has a portrait by his father of Alexander Pope, in oil-painting, which 
evidently proves that if the skilful artist had devoted himself to that 
province of his profession, he might have risen to the same height of 
reputation as he attained with his favourite crayons. 

His son, Mr. Prince Hoare, is a compound character of the most 
extraordinary description. Nature has endowed him with great 
talents, which he has improved by study and by travel. His taste 
originally impelled him to pursue the profession of his father, not as 
a painter in crayons, but on canvass; yet, at the same time, he felt 
an equal propensity towards literary pursuits ; and delicacy of health 
induced him at length to prefer the serene enjoyment of literary 
retirement, which the wealth and affection of his father enabled hina 
readily to indulge. Prince Hoare therefore, sanctioned by parental 



180 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

authority and indulgence, was prompted to relinquish all graphic am- 
bition, and resign himself to studious contemplation rather than 
continue a practical but laborious pursuit of the fine arts : he conse- 
quently devoted himself to literature. 

As a proof that there is an extraordinary mixture of qualities in 
his character, he is witty and humorous in a high degree in his 
literary compositions, though serious in his conduct. His dramatic 
productions abound almost to extravagance in humour, while his 
deportment in private life, though lively and playful when the 
occasion is suitable, is always moral, pious, and without ostentation, 
perceptive and exemplary. His critical powers are judicious and 
acute. 

I remember that when a controversy arose between the Rev. W. 
L. Bowles, who seems to be too anxious to see his name in public, 
and Lord Byron, on the genius of Pope, and a pamphlet was pro- 
duced on both sides, Mr. Hoare, in a conversation with me on the 
subject, observed, that his lordship had liberally supported the learn- 
ing and genius of the poet in moral and poetical subjects, but had 
cautiously avoided all particular notice of his satirical powers, as thej 
were the only qualities that could be brought in comparison with hia 
own. As Mr. Hoare could have no personal interest in the contro- 
versy, I was struck by the originality and shrewdness, as well as 
candour of this observation, and in justice to him venture to record 
it here. For fear that I should, in the warmth of friendship, subject 
myself to the imputation of motives which I disdain, I will here con- 
clude, after acknowledging myself indebted to Mr. Hoare's kindness, 
with subjoining what my late friend Mr. George Dance, the cele- 
brated architect, says of him in his •" Collection of Contemporary 
Portraits," annexed to his likeness of Mr. Prince Hoare. 

*' Prince Hoare, author of various dramatic and other writings. 
Born and educated at Bath ; instructed in painting by his father, 
William Hoare, one of the original members of the Royal Academy. 
He went to Italy for the farther acquirement of his art, and studied 
at Rome under Mengs ; but after his return, through infirm health, 
declined the profession. The following are his dramatic productions, 
of which a few only are published : — ' Julia, or Buch Things were ;' 
— traged}''. ' Indiscretion ;' ' Sighs, or the Daughter ;' ' The Part- 
ners ;' — comedies. 'No Song no Supper;' 'The Gave of Tropho- 
mus;' 'Dido;' 'The Prize;' ' My Grandmother ;' 'Three and the 
Deuce ;' ' Lock and Key ;' ' Mahmoud ;' ' The Friend in Need ;' 
^ The Captive of Spilberg ;' ' Italian Villagers ;' ' Chains of the Heart ;* 
— musical pieces. 

" In. consequence of succeeding, in 1799, to the honorary appoint- 
ment of secretary for foreign correspondence to the Royal Aca- 
demy, he published ' Academic Annals of Paintings, Sculpture, and 
Architecture,' a work since continued by the academy at successive 
periods ; and shortly afterward, ' An Inquiry into the Requisite Cul- 
tivation and Present State of the Arts of Design in England.' ' The 
Artist,' a collection of essays, written chiefly by professional persons^ 
(to which he contributed several papers), is edited by him. 



MR. PRINCE HOARE — MAJOR GROSE. 

" In 1813 he published ' Epochs of Art,' containing historical ob- 
servations on the uses and progress of painting and sculpture. This 
last work is dedicated to the prince regent. He is author of a little 
piece entitled ' Love's Victims,' and some tracts of a moral ten- 
dency." So far Mr. Dance. 

I had the pleasure of writing the epilogue to " Indiscretion," and 
the prologue to " Sighs, or the Daughter," and was not a little grati- 
fied in being thought worthy of adding my metrical mites to the pro- 
ductions of so elegant a writer. Besides the works above -enumerated 
by Mr. Dance, Mr. Prince Hoare in 1820 published " Memoirs of the 
late Granville Sharpe, Esq.," a gentleman universally esteemed for his 
learning, piety, and political rectitude. I shall now take leave of the 
subject, which I have been inclined to prolong because I have found 
Mr. Prince Hoare the warmest and most estimable of my friends. 

Here I intended to take leave of my friend Prince Hoare, but it 
would be unjust indeed if I were to omit noticing his last production, 
which not only illustrates the extraordinary combination of his intel- 
lectual powers and pursuits, but his strong sense of religion, and desire 
of promoting the happiness of mankind. In the year 1825 he pub- 
lished a tract entitled " Easter : a companion to the Book of Common 
Prayer." This small but valuable work is a manual explanatory of 
all the Latin words and phrases, and other appropriate terms of the 
church service, with other matters essential to the due comprehen- 
sion of its important subject. In this interesting and learned work, 
which would do honour to any ecclesiastical authority, he has modestly 
suppressed his name, and published it under the simple designation of 
" A Layman." 

Major Grose. I have before mentioned this gentleman incident- 
ally, but his character deserves a more direct notice. He was one of 
the most jocose, intelligent, and entertaining companions with whom 
it was ever my good fortune to meet. He was remarkably fat, and 
there was a drawing of him made by Mr. Nathaniel Dance, after- 
ward Sir Nathaniel Holland, which is admirably drawn, and a very 
strong and characteristic likeness. He told me, as a specimen of 
Irish humour, that passing through St. Patrick's Market, Dublin, a 
butcher, attracted by his portly form, approached him, and patting 
him on the breast, said, with laughing freedom, " Arrah, say you bought 
your beef of me." 

Major Grose was the author of innumerable w^orks of humour, 
which were justly admired, but the chief of them was, " Advice to 
the Officers of the Army," in the manner of Swift's "Advice to Ser- 
vants." The major was of a very kind and friendly disposition, and 
permitted a Captain Williamson to assume the merit of having written 
this work, though it was previously well known by his private friends 
that it was his ov*'n production. I knew that if I asked him directly 
whether he was the author, he w^ould evade the question, or not give 
me a satisfactory answer. I therefore expressed my surprise that, as 
the fact was known, he would suffer another to usurp his reputa- 
tion. He said that Williamson was a person of literary talents, with- 



182 RECORDS OP MY LITE. 

out any friends to promote his views in life, and therefore, as he did 
not want the reputation arising from a work of that kind, he willingly 
resigned it in favour of a young man with scanty means and no pro- 
mising protection. 

I knew Williamson, and from what I observed of his character 
and talents, considered him as capable of grave political discussion, 
but without any indication of the wit and humour which abound in 
the work in question. This work has been ascribed to the late Mar- 
quis Townshend, who was celebrated for his satirical powers, but they 
"were chiefly exercised in graphic caricatures and convivial conversa- 
tion. My friend Colonel Sir Ralph Hamilton is positively convinced 
that the real author was Lord Townshend ; but with all respect for 
his talents, opinions, and opportunities, I am equally convinced that 
it was the production of my old facetious friend Major Grose. It is 
not improbable that as Sir Ralph was intimate with Lord Town- 
shend, and had a high opinion of his lordship's powers, he credited 
the report with the credulity of friendship. 

It has been said in support of Lord Toviaishend's claim, that Major 
Grose was only a militia officer, and not likely to obtain a know- 
ledge of all the tricks, artifices, and abuses so humorously detailed in 
this work ; but Grose was a man of great research and observation, 
and it is more probable that he should obtain the requisite informa- 
tion than a nobleman of high rank as an officer, from whom such in- 
formation would be studiously concealed, or whose notice it would 
probably have escaped, even with active inquiry on his part. But 
rumour only assigns the work to Lord Townshend, and that supposi- 
tion is chiefly, if not wholly, confined to military people ; while the 
world at large ascribes it to Major Grose, who was a man of indis- 
putable veracity, and who acknowledged himself to be the author. 

Major Grose told me that when he was quartered in Dublin, he 
ordered an Irish sergeant to exercise the men in shooting at a mark. 
The sergeant had placed a pole for them to take aim, stationing a 
certain number on one side, and an equal number on the other, in 
direct opposition. The major happened to reach the spot just as 
they were going to fire, stopped them, and expressed his surprise 
that the sergeant should have placed them in so dangerous a position, 
as they must necessarily wound, if not kill each other. " Kill each 
other !" said the sergeant, " why, they are all our own men." As the 
men so contentedly remained in the dangerous position, it may be in- 
ferred that they were as wise as the sergeant. This story illustrates 
that of Lord Thomond's cocks, which, when the keeper let loose, were 
fighting each other, — much to his surprise, he said, as they belonged to 
one person, and were " all on the same side." 

The last time I saw the major was at the apartments of my old 
friend the Rev. Mr. Penneck. The major lamented that he had for- 
gotten to leave a message at his lodgings in Hplborn. 1 told him 
that I was going home to my house in Hatton Garden, and if he 
-would write a note, I would run with it in my way home. " Oh I 



MR. PYE — MR. BARFOliD. 

pray do not run with it," said the unwieldy wag, " for then I can 
never return the obligation in kind^ 

Mr. Henry James Pye. This gentleman, who was fully qualified 
for the situation of poet-laureat by profound learning and poetical 
genius, I had the pleasure of knowing many years, and though my- 
self incompetent to offer any remarks on his " Birthday Odes," and 
those on the " New Year," yet he paid me the compliment of askings 
my opinion, and sometimes condescended to adopt my suggested 
emendations. His translation of the " Poetic of Aristotle" is, I am 
assured, faithful and spirited. 

Having heard that the late Mr. Kemble had made some marginal 
remarks on that translation, he requested me to tell the latter that he 
should be happy to present him with another copy of the work, if he 
would let him have that which was most probably amended by his 
remarks. I did so of course, but whether the exchange was made I 
know not, and I only mention the matter to show in what respect 
Mr. Pye held the judgment and knowledge of my friend Kemble. 

Mr. Pye was an upright magistrate, and a good poet as well as a 
good scholar, as he has abundantly proved by his various productions. 
His epic poem of Alfred may be said to breathe the true spirit of 
poetry, as well as to evince a judicious conception of character. I 
believe he wrote but one dramatic piece, to which he did me the 
honour of asking me to write the epilogue. I did so, proud to have 
my name associated with that of a man of such genius, learning, and 
worth. I intended it for Mrs, Siddons to deliver, but it was too much 
after perform.ing the heroine of the piece, and was well spoken by 
Miss Mellon, now Duchess of St. Alban's. 

Mr. Pye also proved himself a philosopher. He was once a mem- 
ber of parliament for Berkshire, in which county he was said to possess 
an estate eighteen miles in circumference : yet, after his generous 
and munificent disposition had deprived him of it, he was content to 
live in a simple cottage upon grounds which had once been his own. 
He was a zealous friend and an annual contributor of a poetical 
tribute to that admirable institution, The Literary Fund, but an im- 
pediment in his speech prevented him from animating it by his own 
recitation. 

Mr. Barford, whom I have before mentioned as connected with 
Moody, was a very worthy, good-natured man. He was, I believe, 
an upholsterer by profession, and an agent for some liquor company, 
whose interests he supported with great zeal and activity. He was 
in great intimacy with a gentleman of large fortune who had retired 
from business. This gentleman liked Barford as a companion, 
and used frequently to give him an airing in his carriage, but when 
he had occasion to call on a friend, he would not permit Barford to 
alight with him, lest he should take the opportunity of pressing 
the interest of the liquor company. At one of these visits, while 
Barford remained in the carriage, he stretched himself frequently 
through the window, for the purpose of attracting the notice of the 
gentleman of the house, who at length came forth, and requested 

12 



184 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

Barford to enter. The latter, however, knew that by so doing he 
should displease the friend whom he had accompanied, and therefore 
declined the invitation. Barford continued to stretch forward as be- 
fore, and drew out the gentleman of the house again, who then said, 
if he would not alight, he would probably take some refreshment. 
Barford readily assented, and reflecting upon what the gentleman was 
least likely to have in the cellar, requested a glass of brown stout. 
The gentleman expressed his regret that, though he was well pro- 
vided with most other hquors, he did not happen to have any brown 
stout. " No brown stout !" said Barford, with affected astonishment, 
finding that he had effected his purpose ; " Sir, if you will give me an 
order, I will send you any quantity of the best in England." Bar- 
ford's success in many overtures of the same kind tempted him to 
persevere, and he was thus essentially useful to the company of 
which he was the agent. 

The celebrated Earl of Bath was anxious one night to prolong the 
sitting of a jovial company, and when one of his guests adverted to 
the lateness of the hour which the watchman was calling, " Pooh," 
said his lordship, " do not mind that fellow, he is never in the same 
story an hour together." During the absence of the^same nobleman 
from town, his lady had ordered the white shelves in his library to be 
painted the colour of mahogany. His lordship, on observing the 
change, said to the lady, " Well, my friends will now generally find 
me in a brown study" 

The celebrated Mrs. Woffington, who had lived with Garrick, 
afterward lived with Lord Darnley, who fancied that he could attach 
her to him by more than interested motives, if he kept her from the 
sight of Garrick, whom she professed to have really loved. Lord 
Darnley therefore exacted a promise from her, that she would not 
see Garrick during his absence from town, freel}^ permitting her to 
see anybody else. He however thought proper to have a spy to 
watch her, and found, that notwithstanding her promise, Garrick 
visited her in his absence. He took the first opportunity of telling 
her he had thought he could depend on her promise, but found he 
was mistaken, accusing her of having seen Garrick. " Garrick !'* 
said she, thinking that what he said arose from mere jealousy, " I have 
not seen him for a long time." Lord Darnley then declared he knew 
she had seen Garrick the night before. Finding evasion useless, she 
exclaimed, " Well ! and is not that a long time ?" She was a per- 
fidious woman. She lived till her death with General Caesar, and 
they had agreed that the survivor should possess all the property of 
both; but when she was really on her death-bed, she sent for an 
attorney, made her will during the absence of the general, and be- 
queathed the whole of her property to her sister Mrs. Cholmondeley. 
Lord Cholmondeley, whose nephew had married Mrs. Woffington's 
sister, was much offended at what he considered a degrading union 
in the family ; but, on being introduced to Mrs. Woffington some 
months after the match, he was so much pleased with her, that he 1 
declared, though he had been at first offended at the match, he wasj 



OARRICK AND BEIllSJVGER. 185 

then reconciled to it. Mrs. Woffington, who had educated and sup- 
ported her sister, coldly answered, " My lord, I have much more 
reason to be offended at it than your lordship, for I had before but 
one beggar to maintain, and now I have two." 

I was once in company with her sister, Mrs. Cholmondeley, who 
seemed to think herself a wit, endeavoured to monopolize the con- 
versation, and evidently betrayed the vulgarity of her origin. Mrs. 
Woffington, in her infancy, was actually one of the children who 
were appended to the feet of Madame Violante, a famous dancer on 
the tight rope in Dublin. This fact I learned from the late Duke of 
Leeds, who told me he had been assured of it by Mr. King, the cele- 
brated comic actor. 

Garrick has been represented by his enemies as a mean man, but 
I am happy to be able to relate a striking proof of his benevolence. 
Mr. Berenger, who was deputy-master of the horse, was a particular 
friend of Garrick. He was a man of learning, of elegant manners, 
and of literary talents. I believe he wrote a treatise on Equitation, 
and published a small volume of poems. There is a cento on Shak- 
spcare, possessing more than ordinary merit, as it appears in Dodsley's 
" Collection of Poems." Being a gentleman of fashionable habits, 
and living chiefly with people of rank, his expenses far exceeded his 
income, and he was obliged to confine himself to his official house in 
the King's Mews, which was then a privileged place. His friends 
lamented the loss of so accomplished a companion, and by Garrick's 
instigation, entered into a subscription to compound with the holders 
of his bonds and notes, the apprehension of whom had induced him 
to keep at home. The subscription was so ample, that under the 
managementof Garrick, who understood the business better than the 
2'est of the subscribers, Berenger was released from all his difficulties ; 
and on the first day that he could safely venture abroad, Garrick, who 
had been a liberal subscriber, gave a grand dinner in honour of his 
release. When the company were assembled before dinner, Gar- 
rick, addressing Berenger, told him that his restoration to his friends 
was a subject of so much gratification to them, that there ought to 
be afeu-de-joie on the occasion. He then brought forward all the 
notes and bonds which had been purchased of the creditors, and said, 
" I'll have the honour of setting it a-light." He immediately threw 
them into the grate, and set the pile on fire, together with a bond of 
500Z. for which Berenger was indebted to him. Other proofs of the 
liberality of his disposition ar© well known, and as my old friend 
Donaldson said in an epitaph which he wrote on Garrick's death, — 
if he was saving, it was for the purpose of enabling himself to be 
generous. Yet this is the man who was generally taxed with 
avarice.* 

* Mr. Berenger wrote the following lines on the comparative effects of the perform- 
ance of King Lear by Garrick and Barry : 

The town has found out different ways 

To praise the different Lears ; ' ~- 

To Barry it gives loud huzzas, 
To Garrick only tears. 



RECORDS OF MV LIFE. 

Mrs. Porter, a celebrated actress in the time of Colley Cibber, 
was one night performing Queen Elizabeth, in the tragedy of " The 
Earl of Essex," before Queen Anne. The queen, happening to drop 
her fan on the stage, Mrs. Porter, with great dignity, and in the full 
spirit of the character she was representing, immediately addressed 
one of the performers, and with a commanding aspect said, " Take 
up our sister's fan." The audience received this sally with great 

I have seen both of these celebrated performers in that character, and can attest 
the truth of the lines, for young as I was, I well remember that at Garrick's repre- 
sentation of the part, white Jiandkerchiefs were seen among the ladies in every box. 
I remember also, that though Barry's fine figure and dignified deportment excited 
great applause, there was no such appearance of sympathizing tenderness ; and 
having previously seen Garrick, Barry's Lear appeared to me cold and tame in com- 
parison. The contest between Garrick and Barry in Romeo, of which, with all 
their respective excellence, the town grew tired, occasioned the following epigram, 
which appeared in one of the newspapers, and I understood run through the others, 
for the struggle took place long before my time. 

Well 1 what to-night ? says angry Ned, 

As up from bed he rouses, 
Romeo again ! and shakes his head, 

Ah I plague on both your houses ! 

Crarrick v/as himself naturally tired of the contest, as the audience began to fall off; 
;ind wrote the two following epigrams : — 

So reversed are the notions of Capulet's daughters. 
One loves a whole length, and the other three quarters. 



Fair Juliet at one house exclaims with a sigh, 

No Romeo is clever that's not six feet high ; 

Less ambitiously t'other does Romeo adore, 

Though in size he scarce reaches to five feet and four. 

These lines my old friend Cooke, the barrister, received from Garrick himself, and 
I believe they were never before published. 

Garrick's Juliet was the celebrated Mrs. Cibber, and Barry's y/as a Miss Nossiter, 
a woman of fortune, fond of the stage, but more fond of Barry, to whom she pre- 
sented a pair of diamond shoe-buckles. A lady of fashion being asked her opinion of 
the two Romeos, said, " When I saw Garrick, if I had been his Juliet, I should have 
%vished him to leap up into the balcony to me ; but when I saw Barry, I should have 
been inclined to jump down to him." There can be little doubt that the fine figure 
of Barry made a great impression on the ladies, but I am assured that the critics 
decided in favour of Garrick. My late friend Arthur Murphy told me, that when 
he wrote " The Grecian Daughter," he intended the part of Evander for Barry, to 
whom he had promised it, but to his surprise, Garrick signified that he would per- 
form it himself. Murphy could not but rejoice that his play would have such 
powerful support, yet was embarrassed in thinking he should be obliged to forfeit 
his promise to Barry ; there was, however, no resisting the power of the manao-er 
and his transcendent talents. Murphy therefore went to Barry, told him Garrick's 
intention, and began to apologize. Barry stopped him in a moment, and said, " Let 
him perform it, he will soon be tired, and resign it to me, and I shall be able to per- 
form it much better from his example." Such was the opinion entertained by Barry 
of the advantages which he should derive from witnessing the excellence of Garrick 
in the part. Upon reflection, Garrick thought himself too old to perform a new 
.part, particularly if the piece should have a run, and therefore resigned it to Barry. 
I was present the first night, and well remember the Evander of Barry, which cor- 
responded with his infirmities at the time, and made a powerful impression on the 
audience. Mrs. Barry's excellence in Euphrasia considerably added to her repu- 
tation, as she was then in the prime of life, and in the full vigour of her talents. 



OAPABILITY BROWN. 187 

applause, and the queen's countenance expressed an affable smile ; but 
the actress, the moment after she had uttered the words, was ready 
to sink with confusion. 

The famous Earl of Dorset, Prior's patron, used to say he hated 
to be in the same room with a dull good-natured person, as there was 
no kicking him out of the company. 



CHAPTER XXVII. 

Capability Brown. This gentleman may be numbered among 
the acquaintance of my family, but he flourished before my time. 
He was famous for his taste in ornamenting grounds, and acquired 
the title of Capability, as it was his custom in looking over parks, 
gardens, and their vicinities, to say that they displayed capabilities. 
He was undoubtedly a man of great taste, and had improved many 
noblemen's seats and situations that seemed incapable of deriving 
much advantage in point of prospect, and also in interior embellish- 
ments. He was at length so much celebrated, and his practice so 
successful, — he had, moreover, such a full reliance on his own genius, 
and his judgment was so much respected, that he made no scruple on 
all occasions to maintain his decided right to the reputation he had 
acquired. He was received into the best company, not only on 
account of his professional skill, but for his humour and promptitude 
at repartee. 

One day when he was walking through the royal gardens with 
King George the Third, his majesty having asked his opinion of tha 
arrangement of the grounds. Brown expressed his approbation of it, 
and said it must have been designed and executed by " the Brown 
of the time." * When the great Lord Chatham, disabled by the gout, 
was descending the stairs of St. James's Palace, Brown offered to 
assist his lordship and attend him to his carriage. As soon as the 
noble lord was seated, he said, " Thank you, Mr. Brown ; now, sir, 
go and adorn your country." Brown instantly answered, " Go you, 
my lord, and save it." An ingenious and happy return. 

Having dined one day at the house of a nobleman, and the conver- 
sation turning upon gardening, some of the company spoke in favour 
of clumps. On departing with a nobleman, a double row of servants, 
like a " liveried army," to use the words of Dr. Johnson, lined the 
passage in expectation of receiving what are called vails from each 
of the guests : Brown, casting his eyes on both sides of the passage 
'where these toll-gatherers were assembled, " Don't you think, my 
ilord," said he, "that this vista ought to be clumped?" This mode of 
levying contributions on visiters was carried to an almost incredible 
extent, till some persons of distinction united in forming a determi- 
iiation to abolish such a disgraceful taxation. 



RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

It is said that this practice prevailed to such a degree, even at the 
liouse of the great Lord Chesterfield, that when he invited Voltaire a 
second time to his table, the French wit in his answer declined the 
invitation, alleging that " his lordship's ordinary was too dear" 

Another evil practice of servants to the higher orders, at that timCj. 
"was carried to such a height that it wrought its own cure. It was 
jisual at the old Italian Opera-house to allot a gallery to the footmen 
that when their masters or mistresses had appointed the time to leave 
the theatre, their servants might be ready to attend. But these livery- 
men took it into their heads to become critics upon the performances, 
and delivered their comments in so tumultuous a manner, that the 
managers found it absolutely necessary to close the gallery against 
them, and to assign it to those only who paid for admission. 

Just before the abolition of this party-coloured tribunal, a wag v;ho 
"was fond of music, but who had more wit than money, appeared at 
the gallery door, where the porter demanded the name of his master,. 
The wag boldly answered, " I am the Lord Jehovah's servant," and 
"was admitted, one of the door-keepers saying to the other, " I never 
heard of that man's master before, but suppose it is some scurvy Scotch 
lord or other." 

'When my old friend George Colman the younger had written his 
excellent comedy of " John Bull," and it was in rehearsal at Covent 
Garden theatre, the late Mr. Lewis, who performed the part of the 
Honourable Mr. Shuffleton, told me that the late Sir Charles Bamfield 
desired he would dress the character after his (Sir Charles's) usual 
mode of attire, and that he would endeavour to induce the author to 
change the name to any other that sounded like Bamfield, that the 
pubhc might identify the character with him. The author wisely de- 
clined the suggested alteration, unwilling to incur the charge of person- 
ality. This was a strange ambition of Sir Charles, as the character 
is by no means an honourable one, but it is impossible to doubt the 
veracity of Mr. Lewis. Sir Charles Bamfield was held as the model 
of a fine gentleman by Dr. Wolcot, as he told me ; sC> was Arthur 
Murphy by Dr. Johnson. 

Mr. John Kemble used to relate many whimsical anecdotes of pro- 
•vincial actors whom he knew in the early part of his life. He said 
that an actor who was to perform the character of Kent, in the play 
of " King Lear," had dressed himself like a doctor, with a large grizzle 
"wig, having a walking-stick, which he held up to his nose, and a box 
under his arm. Being asked why he dressed the Earl of Kent in that 
manner, he said, " People mistake the character ; he was not an earl, 
but a doctor. Does not Kent say, when the king draws his sword 
on him for speaking in favour of CordeUa, ' Do kill thy physician,}. 
Lear ;' and when the king tells him to take his ' hated trunk from his 
dominions,' and Kent says, ' Now to new climes my old trunk I'll bear,''; 
■what could he mean but his medicine-chest, to practise in another 
country ?" 

The late Mr. Kemble was known to be of a convivial turn, and not 
in a hurry to leave a jovial party. He passed an evening with my 



JOHN KEMBLE. 18& 

late friend Br. Charles Burney, who kept an academy on the Ham- 
mersmith road, near to the three-mile-stone. Mr. Kemble remained 
here till five in the morning, when looking out of the window he saw a 
fish-cart on its way to Billingsgate, and having no other conveyance to 
town, he hailed the driver, and desired to be his passenger. The 
man readily consented, when Kemble adapted himself to the capacity 
of the man, who declared that he never met so pleasant a gentleman 
before. Instead of getting out, he desired the man to take him on 
to Billingsgate, where some of the people happened to know his per- 
son, and told it to the rest. The people left their business, gathered 
round him, and gave him a cheer. Mr. Pearce, then an eminent fish- 
monger in London, and an old friend of Macklin the actor, advanced 
towards Mr. Kemble, and offered to show him the place. Mr. Kem- 
ble remained some time, gratified the crowd with some humorous 
sallies, and then told Mr. Pearce that if he could get a coach he would 
take home a turbot for Mrs. Kemble. Mr. Pearce despatched one 
of his servants, who soon brought a coach, and Mr. Pearce took care 
to procure for him the best turbot the market afforded, and he went 
off amid the shouts of the people, which he returned with gracious 
salutations. Mr. Pearce has some j^ears retired to Margate, and from 
him I learned the latter part of this anecdote. 

Mr. Kemble resided some time on Turnham Green, during the 
summer season, where I had the pleasure of dining with him, and he 
read to me his romantic entertainment of " Lodoiska." There was a 
club at the Packhorse Tavern, consisting of the chief gentlemen of 
the neighbourhood, of which Dr. Wolcot, Mr. Jesse Foot, and Mr. 
Jerningham were admitted members. Mr. Kemble was invited to 
dine at this club, and Mr. George Colman happening to call on Mn 
Kemble, he was invited also. They kept up the ball till most of the 
members, who had remained long beyond the usual time, entertained 
by the remarks of Kemble and the gayeties of my friend Colman, 
gradually withdrew ; and Kemble and Colman did not break up till 
twelve o'clock the next day, having been left by themselves for many 
hours. 

I have been more than once kept up by Mr. Kemble till four and 
five in the morning. This I remember particularly to have happened 
after his first performance of Octavian in " The Mountaineers." At 
length, however, he became quite temperate ; and the last time I 
dined with him at his own house in Russell-street, Bloomsbury, I said 
to him, " Come, Johnny, we have not drunk a glass of wine together," 
Mrs. Kemble then said, " I am Johnny ; Mr. Kemble does not drink 
wine, and I am ready for you." Mr. Kemble did not drink wine all 
the time, but was in such good spirits as to show that he had no occa- 
sion for such an auxiliary. 

It has been often observed that a man will readily face danger and 
death in one form, and be afraid of it in another ; and this remark was 
strikingly exemplified in Junot, one of Bonaparte's generals, who raised 
himself by his coolness when Bonaparte was besieging Toulon. He 
was writing something by order of the latter when a bombshell burst 

13 



RECORDS OF 5tfY MPEa 

near him ; he promptly observed that he wanted sand, and it had 
come in due time. Yet I remember to have heard Sir Sydney Smith, 
speaiiing of Junot in the captain's room at the Admiralty, say, that 
when he was going on board the Tigre, Sir Sydney's ship, he was so 
frightened in mounting the ladder, that it was found necessary to take 
him on board through one of the port-holes. 

Handel, when he first visited Ireland, in consequence of his disgust 
at the prefei-ence given to Bononcini in London, carried a letter of 
introduction to Dean Swift. When the dean heard that he was a 
musician and a German, he declined receiving him ; but when his 
man added that the bearer of the letter was a great genius, " A genius 
and a German !" said Swift: " Oh, then, show him up immediately." 

I had the pleasure of a slight acquaintance with Dr. Morell, well 
known for learning and piety, and who selected subjects from the 
Scriptures for Handel's oratorios. I heard him say that, one fine 
summe. morning, he was roused out of bed at five o'clock by Handel, 
who came in his carriage a short distance from London. The doctor 
went to the window and spoke to Handel, who would not leave his 
carriage. Handel was at the time composing an oratorio. When 
the doctor asked him what he wanted, he said, " What de devil means 
de vord billow ?" which was in the oratorio the doctor had written 
for him. The doctor, after laughing at so ludicrous a reason for dis- 
turbing him, told him that billow meant wave, a wave of the sea. 
" Oh, de vave," said Handel, and bade his coachman return, without 
addressing another word to the doctor. 

Doctor Monsey told me that he had watched Quin the actor with 
attention, and sometimes thought he had evidently prepared and laid 
trains for his hons-mots, but that Lord Chesterfield's seemed to be 
elicited by the occasion, and were promptly uttered. The only weak 
thing he said he ever heard from his lordship was, when somebody 
in company said, " My lord, I drink your health," and his lordship 
answered, " Then how can I have it ?" I presume here to differ with 
my friend Monsey, for the salutation was a vulgar custom, and his 
lordship, no doubt, intended to correct it, so that on this occasion he 
might rather be supposed to desert his usual politeness than to show 
any want of wit. 

Reverse of fortune. Madame Mara, with whom I was intimately 
acquainted from her first arrival in this country as a great singer, told 
me that she saw a woman sweeping the streets at Berlin who had 
been the chief singer at the opera in Madrid. A very rich jewel had 
been offered for sale to the queen of Spain, who admired it very 
much, but declared she could not afford to purchase so valuable an 
article. The singer above mentioned bought it with the foolish 
vanity of showing that she was richer than the queen. This act was 
deemed so presumptuous and insolent, that the royal family withdrew 
all patronage from the Opera-house till this woman was dismissed. 
The common people also partook in the feelings of the court, and ex- 
pressed their disgust whenever she appeared. She was, therefore, 
obliged to leave Madrid, but the story followed her wherever she 



MRS. SATXMATl — eHKVAMER d'eoN. 191 

.went, and though her vocal talents were great, she was everywhere 
so ill-received, that at length all her pecuniary resources were ex- 
hausted, and she sunk into the low condition in which Madame Mara 
saw her. 

A few years ago a Mrs. Batiman forced herself upon public atten- 
tion by an exhibition of her skill in fencing, in a contest with the cel- 
ebrated Chevalier d'Eon, and also by performing at one of the Lon- 
don theatres, — I believe that in the Haymarket. Her acting was 
characterized by the boldness and confidence of vanity, rather than 
by any real comic merits. I saw this woman play " Bridget," in the 
comedy of " The Chapter of Accidents," and I never saw any per- 
former, male or female, that seemed to manifest such self-possession, the 
obvious result of a settled conviction of conscious excellence. By her 
audacity and artifice, she entrapped Mr. Kemble into an epistolary cor- 
respondence, having offered herself for an engagement at Drury-lane 
theatre when he was manager. Not succeeding with Mr. Kemble, 
she solicited an interview with Mr. Sheridan, accusing Mr. Kemble 
of having encouraged her hopes of an engagement, and then of having 
abruptly rejected her. Mr. Sheridan granted the interview, but in- 
timated that Mr. Kemble should be present, that he might hear both 
parties. She went to Mr. Sheridan's, and brought with her a num- 
ber of papers, including Mr. Kemble's letters. She read them with 
great vehemence, and with a kind of theatrical deportment, in order 
to impress Mr. Sheridan with a high idea of her talents for the stage. 
She placed each of them on the table as she read it, and her feelings 
were so entirely engrossed by the business, that Mr. Kemble, who 
was present, contrived to take them, one by one, from her mass of 
papers, and throw them into the fire. When she had finished the re- 
lation of her case, Mr. Sheridan said that he had heard nothing in Mr. 
Kemble's letters which justified her in charging him with having de- 
ceived her ; and that he was sure Mr. Kemble would not have given 
her any hope of an engagement without consulting him and receiving 
his sanction. She rose from her chair, hastily gathered her papers, 
without missing the letters, and left the room in a violent passion. 

Mr. Kemble assured me the letters contained nothing but the- 
courtesy due to a female, and that he only withdrew and destroyed 
them because he did not like to have them remain in the hands of so 
violent and vindictive a woman. He never knew whether she missed 
the letters, as he never heard from her again. What finally became 
of her I know not, but I heard that poor Chevalier D'Eon, after hav- 
ing distinguished himself as a politician and an historian, disgraced 
his character by exhibiting himself with this woman in fencing 
matches at several provincial towns. The mysterious character of 
D'Eon, and his appearance both as a male and female in this country 
and in many parts of Europe, rendered him a subject of general 
conversation, insomuch that policies were opened to ascertain his sex, 
while he appeared in male and female attire. 

D'Eon, before the revolution, had assumed the male attire, but by 
an order of the French court, from which it is understood he received 



£92 KJEGORDS OV MY IJTE. 

a pension, he was compelled to appear again like a woman, as ori- 
ginally directed by the French government, for reasons which have 
never been satisfactorily developed. 

I was assured by a very old friend of my father, who was well 
acquainted with D'Eon in the earlier part of the time when he ap- 
peared in male attire, and was connected with an agency from France, 
ihat his manners were captivating, and that he might have married 
most advantageously, as several ladies of good families, and with 
iaro'e fortunes, had made overtures to him at country-seats where he 
"visited, and that on all such occasions he immediately left the house. 
Hence it was inferred he quitted the place on account of his being 
jeally of the female sex. It is difficult to discover what were his 
jeal motives for retaining the female attire after the destruction of the 
monarchy in France, and when he ceased to have any connexion 
■with that country. 

I met the chevalier in his advanced life at the late Mr. Angelo's„ 
in Carlisle-street, Soho, and if his manners had been once so capti- 
vating, they had undergone a great alteration, for though he was 
dressed as a woman, he spoke and acted with all the roughness of a 
■veteran soldier. From all I have heard of D'Eon, he must have 
been a very intelligent man, full of anecdote and fertile in conversa- 
tion ; and 1 cannot but repeat my regret, that a character who had 
jnade so conspicuous a figure, should ever have been reduced to 
derive a precarious support from a public exhibition of his talents in 
' fencing with a woman. What were his means for subsistence till 
jiis death, is not, and perhaps never will be known ; but his name 
and extraordinary appearance will never be forgotten. 

It is probable that before the destruction of the French monarchy 
lie had a pension from France ; and not improbable that the British 
government, which made so magnificent a provision for General 
Paoli, had allotted some support to the Chevalier D'Eon. It appears 
somewhat strange, that nothing was also done for poor Theodore^ 
who had actually been elected King of Corsica by the people, and 
who had nearly died in a jail in this country, w^hile Paoli was so 
■well provided for, who certainly had not equal pretensions. Paoli 
lived almost like a nobleman in this country ; and it would be diffi- 
cult to discover why he was so bountifully patronised, though, as a 
man who had struggled hard for the deliverance of his country, it 
■was suitable to the character of Great Britain to aflford him a Hberal 
asylum. 

I knew a little of Paoli, and passed two evenings with him at 
]Mr. Cosway's, in Stratford Place. In the first evening there was 
a very large party, and some fine musical performances, but Mrs, 
Abington and Paoh seemed not to be interested by those entertain- 
ments, and sat on a sofa by the fire. As I knew that I could often 
hear music, and rarely see such a man as Paoli, I joined them near 
the sofa, and took a part in their conversation. Mrs. Abington, 
whom I had previously known, was brisk, smart, and intelligent. 
aShe endeavoured to draw out Paoli, but he seemed more inclined to 



PAOLI, LORD LYTTELTON, AND DR. JOHNSON. 193 

listen, and though he had lived so long in the country, he knew so 
little of our language that it was not very easy to understand him. 
The second evening nobody was present but Mr. and Mrs. Cosway, 
General Paoli, and myself. Paoli displayed the same silent manner, 
which did not appear to me to be an habitual or intentional reserve, 
but rather a reluctance to speak, on account of the difficulty which 
lie felt of making himself fully understood. Mrs. Cosway was the 
life of the conversation, and by her attention to Paoli, she gave him a 
fair opportunity of coming forward with advantage ; yet, though I 
listened with an anxious desire to hear the sentiments and opinion of 
a person who had excited so much notice in the world, I heard nothing 
from him, notwithstanding various topics were introduced . that 
appeared to me to be worth treasuring in my memory. I had heard 
from the Boswells, father and son, of the elegance of his manners, 
but it appeared to be of the privative kind, and such as might be ex- 
pected from any modest man who was fearful of giving offence. 

Paoli, during the revolutionary government in France, went to 
Paris, and paid homage to the usurping powers. He then proceeded 
to Corsica, but did not experience a very encouraging reception, 
and, therefore, wisely returned to this country, where he received the 
same liberal allov*^ance, and passed the remainder of his life in stu- 
dious ease and limited intercourse with society. Whether he had 
any acquaintance with my friend Colonel Frederick, the son of Theo- 
dore, I know not ; but Frederick did not seem to hold him in much 
respect, appearing rather to consider him as a man who had beeo 
fortunately raised into unmerited distinction ; and I never had rea- 
son to beheve that Frederick was capable of detraction, 

Paoli in person altogether bore a stronger resemblance to the late 
celebrated Dr. Herschel than I ever saw between any other two in- 
dividuals. With Dr. Herschel I once passed great part of an even- 
ing at the hospitable mansion of the late Mr. Thompson, in Grosvenor- 
square, and I was much struck with the unaffected modesty of a 
gentleman so justly esteemed for his astronomical discoveries. 

The first Lord Lyttelton was very absent in company, and wheo 
he fell into a river by the oversetting of a boat, at Hagley, it was said 
of him that he had " sunk twice before he recollected he could swim.'^ 
Mr. Jerningham told me, that dining one day with his lordship, the 
earl pointed to a particular dish, and asked to be helped of it, calling it, 
however, by a name very different from what the dish contained. 
A gentleman was going to tell him of his mistake. " Never mind," 
whispered another of the party ; " help him to what he asked for, 
and he will suppose it is what he wanted." 

Dr. Johnson, on hearing a Mr. Dalrymple, at the table of Sir 
Joshua Reynolds, speaking with contempt of Racine, the French 
poet, expressed a high opinion of Racine. Mr. Dalrymple, in answer, 
said, " Why, doctor, I heard you say that you had never read Racine, 
how then can you be able to]udge of his merit?" The doctor, after 
giving his body the usual meditative roll, replied, " Well, sir, I never 
did read Racine, but the opinion of all Europe is in his favour, and 



194 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

surely I may venture to prefer that opinion to the judgment of Mr.' 
Dalrymple." Mr. Jerningham dined with Sir Joshua that day, and 
told me the story. 

Arthur Murphy, whose mind was chiefly occupied by dramatic 
subjects, after he became a barrister, dining one Sunday at the chap- 
lain's table, St. James's Palace, being too early, strolled into the 
Chapel Royal during the service, and desiring a seat, he thus ad- 
dressed one of the attendants on the pews : " Here, hoxkeeper, open 
this 6oa?." 

The great Lord Chatham, speaking of a statesman of his time 
who was in place, said, " That man would not be honest if he could, 
and could not if he would." 



CHAPTER XXVHI. 

As I have had much intercourse with the theatrical vi^orld, and 
intend to notice such celebrated actors as have quitted the stage of 
life, it would be strange indeed, if, having had the pleasure of seeing 
the performances of Mr. Garrick, I should lightly pass over his name 
in my humble records. I shall not enter into his history, as it is to 
be found in innumerable dramatic annals, and particularly in those of 
Mr. Davies and Mr. Murphy. It would be presumptuous in me to 
attempt to delineate his excellence as an actor, even if I were capa- 
ble of paying a due tribute to his genius, after the testimonies of the 
chief literati and best judges of the time. I shall merely relate a 
few anecdotes, in addition to those already scattered through these 
records, v/hich I learned from private channels ; and content myself 
with saying, that though I saw him in my early days, I witnessed his 
excellence in such a variety of characters, that he made a strong 
impression on my mind, and I remember enough of his acting to be 
able to compare him with all his successors in every one of those 
characters, and have never seen in the best of them' any thing like 
equal merit. In fact, in my humble opinion, he shone as much as an 
actor as his favourite Shakspeare does as a dramatic poet. 

My old friend Dr. Monsey was for many years in the closest inti- 
macy with Garrick, and though the occasion of their separation was 
never removed, they must mutually have regretted the dissolution of 
their friendship. Garrick was fond of playing tricks, but in them he 
had an eye to his art. Dr. Monsey had often been with him when he 
indulged himself in these pranks, and sometimes thought himself in 
danger of suffering by the consequences of his sportive levity. Dr. 
Monsey told me, that he once had occasion to accompany Garrick 
and Mr. Windham of Norfolk, father of the late Mr. Windham the 
statesman, into the city. On their return, Garrick suddenly left them 
at the top of Ludgate Hill, and walking into the middle of the street. 



GAKRICK AND DR. MONSKY. 195 

looked upwards, and repeated several times to himself, « I never saw 
tw^o before." The strange appearance of a man in this situation 
talking to himself, naturally attracted some persons towards him 
more followed, and at length a great crowd was collected round him! 
Several persons asked him what he saw. He made no answer, but 
repeated the same words. A man then observed that the gentleman 
must see two storks, as they are rarely if ever seen in pairs. This 
observation contented the multitude, till another said, "Well, but who 
sees one besides the gentleman ?" Monsey, for fear of getting into 
a scrape, moved off, lest he should be taken for a confederate to make 
people fools ; but I now remember that Mr. Windham, who, like his 
^on, was a good boxer, determined to witness the end of this whim- 
ical freak. Garrick affected an insane stare, cast his eyes around 
the multitude, and afterward declared that from the various expression 
n the faces of the people, and their gestures, he had derived hints 
:hat served him in his profession. 

Another time, when Garrick was with Monsey, at the joyful sound 
)f twelve at noon, a great many boys poured out of school. Gar- 
ick selected one whom he accused of having treated another cruelly 
vho stood near him. The boy declared that he had not been ill- 
reated ; and Garrick then scolded the other still more, affecting to 
hink how little he deserved the generosity of the boy who sought to 
jxcuse him by a falsehood. The boys were left in a state of con- 
iternation by Garrick's terrific demeanour and piercing eye ; and he 
old Monsey that he derived much advantage from observing their 
various emotions. 

While he was walking with Monsey on another occasion, he saw a 
icket-porter going before them at a brisk pace, and humming a tune. 
They were then at old Somerset House. " I'll get a crowd around 
hat man," said Garrick, " before he reaches Temple Bar." He then 
idvanced before the man, turned his head, and gave him a piercing 
bok. The man's gayety was checked in a moment, he kept his eye on 
Sarrick, who stopped at an apple-stall till the man came near, then 

fave him another penetrating glance, and went immediately on. The 
lan began to look if there was any thing strange about him that 
ttracted the gentleman's notice, and, as Garrick repeated the same 
jxpedient, turned himself in all directions, and pulled off his wig, to 
ee if any thing ridiculous was attached to him. By this time, the 
estless anxiety of the man excited the notice of the passengers, and 
plarrick effected his purpose of gathering a crowd round the porter 
)efore he reached Temple Bar. 

Dr. Monsey said that he once was in danger of receiving a severe 
^low in consequence of one of Garrick's vagaries of a similar kind. 
rhey had dined at Garrick's house in Southampton-street, Covent 
warden, and had taken a boat in order to go in the evening to Vaux- 
lall. A smart-looking young waterman stood on the strand at Hun- 
j^erford Stairs. As soon as they were seated in their boat, Garrick 
iddressed^the young waterman in the following manner : " Are you 
lot ashamed to dress so smart, and appear so gay, when you know 
hat your poor mother is in great distress, and you have not the heart 



196 RECORDS OP MY UFE. 

to allow her more than threepence a week?" The young marr 
turned his head to see if anybody was near to whom the words mighti 
apply, and, seeing none, he took up a brickbat and threw it very near 
Garrick's boat, and continued to aim stones at him. Garrick's boat- 
man pulled hard to get out of the way of this missile hostility, or 
Monsey said they might have otherwise suffered a serious injury. 

It may be thought that these wanton sports were unworthy of such 
a man, but allowance is to be made for a great genius that might wish 
for some relaxation after the toils of acting and the troubles of 
theatrical management. Garrick's merit as an actor has been so 
often and so well described by the chief men of his day, that I shall! 
say no more on the subject, except to refer the reader to my friend 
Arthur Murphy's life of him, which, though a work not equal to what 
might be expected from him if written at an earlier period, takes a 
liberal and masterly view of Garrick in his several capacities as actor, 
author, manager, and private gentleman. 

Garrick has been accused of avarice, but he should rather have 
been esteemed for prudence and economy, as Dr. Johnson and Mr- 
Murphy both declared, that to their knowledge he never was wanting 
in private benevolence. 

Mrs. Clive was eminent as an actress on the London stage before 
Garrick appeared, and, as his blaze of excellence threw all others 
into comparative insignificance, she never forgave him, and took every 
opportunity of venting her spleen. She was coarse, rude, and violent 
in her temper, and spared nobody. One night, as Garrick was per- 
forming " King Lear," she stood behind the scenes to observe him, and 
in spite of the roughness of her nature, was so deeply affected that she 
sobbed one minute and abused him the next, and at length, overcome 
bv his pathetic touches, she hurried from the place with the following 
extraordinary tribute to the universahty of his powers : " D — n him t 
I believe he could act a gridiron." 

It is said also that one night when he was performing " Macbeth,'^ 
and the murderer entered the banquet scene, Garrick looked at him 
with such an expressive countenance, and uttered with such energy, 
*' There's blood upon thy face," that the actor said, " Is there, by 
G — ?" instead of " 'Tis Banquo's then ;" thinking, as he afterward 
acknowledged, that he had broken a blood-vessel. 

Dr. Wolcot, and there could not be a better judge, considered 
Garrick perfect in comedy, and that if ever he was at fault in tragedy;, 
it was because the language and sentiments of the tragic drama were 
generally unnatural. Garrick placed the works of Otway next ta 
those of Shakspeare in his library, and when Monsey asked him the 
reason, he said, " Because I think that, next to our unrivalled bardj 
he had more command over the passions than all other dramatic 
poets. ^ 

My father, who saw him perform "King Richard" on the firsi 
night of his appearance at Goodman's Fields, told me that the 
audience were particularly struck with his manner of throwing awaj 
the book when the lord mayor and aldermen had retired, as it mani 



GARKICK. 197 

fested a spirit totally different from the solemn dignity which charac- 
terized tlie former old school, and which his natural acting wholly 
overturned. 

Garrick was once present when my father was going to perform an 
operation on the cataract ; and though the patient was timid and fear- 
ful, he was entertained so much by Garrick's humour, that he under- 
went the operation with great fortitude, and was rewarded by its 
success. 

Garrick's excellence in " Leon" was universally admitted, but he 
was anxious to perform the part of the " Copper Captain," in " Rule 
a Wife and Have a Wife," and he several times rehearsed it for that 
purpose ; but there is a traditional laugh introduced, which he never 
could execute to his own satisfaction, and, therefore, kept to " Leon," 
in which character he was admirable, having an opportunity of show- 
ing how well he could represent timid simplicity with a sly mixture 
of archness in the early scenes of the character, and afterward assert 
the claims of the husband with spirit, energy, and grandeur. Why 
this traditional laugh should be introduced, or thought essential to the 
part, it is difficult to say ; and still more difficult to conceive that it 
should have exceeded the powers of Garrick, who was an admirable 
imitator. The "Copper Captain" is to laugh when he finds that 
" Estifania" had imposed his false jewels on the usurer, but surely 
that was no cause for such elaborate merriment as is generally ex» 
hibited in the part. If Garrick failed in attempting it, this was not 
the case with Woodward, King, aijd Lewis, all of whom I have seen 
in the part, and the laughter was natural and effective in all, though 
it was entirely different in each. 

Though Garrick felt strongly himself, yet he was always able to 
control his feelings, and could reserve them for future indulgence. 
An instance of this self-command occurred when a young candidate 
for the stage addressed him., and requested to be heard in the cele- 
brated soliloquy in " Hamlet." 'The young man had, unfortunately^ 
an impediment in his speech, and stammered at the beginning. Gar- 
rick expressed his surprise that, with such an impediment, he should 
think of being a public speaker in any respect. The candidate 
assured him that if he once surmounted the difficulty at the beginnings 
he could then go smoothly on. Garrick dismissed the young man 
with courtesy, reserving the merriment that such an incident might 
naturally excite till he could give way to it without wounding the 
feelings of another, and then freely indulged in it. 

I will now mention a circumstance that manifests the irresistible 
power of his acting. The late Mr. Farington, a member of the 
Koyal Academy, and a particular friend of mine, told me that he had 
jiot an opportunity of seeing Garrick act till his last season. Finding 
that he was announced for "Hamlet," Mr. Farington went early to 
the theatre, and obtained a seat in the second row in the pit. He 
beheld with indifference all that passed in the play previous to the 
entrance of " Hamlet" with the royal court. He then bent forward 
with eagerness, and directed all his attention to Garrick. Observing 



198 HECORDS OF MY LIFE, 

his painted face, which but ill concealed the effects of time, his bulky 
form and high-heeled shoes to raise his figure, Mr. Farington drew 
back with disappointment and dejection, thinking that a man who at 
an earlier period might fully deserve all his celebrity, was going to ex- 
pose himself in the attempt to perform a character for which, from 
age, he was totally unfit. At length Garrick began to speak in answer 
to the king. Mr. Farington then resumed his attention ; and such 
was the truth, simplicity, and feeling with which the great actor spoke 
and acted, that my friend declared he lost sight of Garrick's age, 
bulk, and high-heeled shoes, and saw nothing but the "Hamlet" 
which the author had designed. From that time, Mr. Farington con- 
stantly attended Garrick's performances, and said that he manifested 
equal excellence in all. 

I can add to this testimony a still higher authority in favour of Gar- 
rick's extraordinary merit as an actor. Speaking of Garrick once 
when the subject of acting was introduced in company with Mrs. 
Siddons, I observed, so long a time had passed since she saw him act, 
that, perhaps, she had forgotten him ; on which she said emphatically, 
it was impossible to forget him. Another time I told her that Mr. 
Sheridan had declared Garrick's " Richard" to be very fine, but did 
not think it terrible enough. " God bless me !" said she, " what could 
be more terrible ?" She then informed me, that when she was re- 
hearsing the part of " Lady Anne" to his " Richard," he desired her, as 
he drew her from the couch, to follow him step by step, for otherwise 
he should be obliged to turn his face from the audience, and he acted 
much with his features. Mrs. Siddons promised to attend to his 
desire, but assured me there was such an expression in his acting 
that it entirely overcame her, and she was obliged to pause, when he 
gave her such a look of reprehension as she never could recollect 
without terror. She expressed her regret that she had only seen him 
in two characters, except when she acted " Lady Anne" with him, — • 
and those characters were " Lear" and " Ranger ;" that his " Lear" 
was tremendous, and his " Ranger" delightful. Nothing need be 
added to the testimony of one of the greatest ornaments of the stage 
which, perhaps, ever appeared since the origin of the drama, and 
whom, perhaps, it is impossible to surpass in theatrical excellence. 

I cannot give a higher idea of the estimation in which Garrick's 
talents, wit, and humour were held, than by stating that he was inti- 
mate with the great Lord Pvf ansfield, the great Lord Camden, and 
the great Earl of Chatham, as well as with the highest nobility and the 
most distinguished literary characters of his time. It is strange, but 
true, as he assured Dr. Monsey, that he never was in company with 
Dr. Johnson but he felt awe from the recollection that the doctor had 
once been his schoolmaster, though for thirty years he was accus- 
tomed to face multitudes in the theatres, and had been introduced to 
persons of the highest rank in this and other countries. 

As an author Garrick appears to great advantage. His share in 
the comedy of " The Clandestine Marriage" was considerable, and 
highly to the credit of his genius as a dramatic Writer, as it has been 



GARRICK BARRY. 199 

understood that the entire character of Lord Ogleby was his compo- 
sition. His farces are all excellent, and admirably calculated for 
dramatic effect. His prologues and epilogues are more in number 
and equal to those of any other writer of similar productions. There 
is great merit in his poem on the death of Mr. Pelham, and his 
epigrams are all neat and well pointed. 

It has been generally supposed that, because he lived some time 
with Mrs. Woffington, he wrote those lines on her beginning with 

" Once more I'll tune the vocal shell," 

bach stanza ending with " My Peggy ;" but they v/ere written by Sir 
Charles Hanbury Williams, and are to be found in his works as 
published by Lord Holland. 

I have been assured by the late Sir Henry Bate Dudley, that 
jarrick's table was always plentiful, elegant, and conducted with the 
rue spirit of hospitality. Sir Henry was intimate with Garrick, and 
veil knew himself how to entertain with spirit and elegance. 

Garrick, as I was assured by Dr. Monsey, peculiarly excelled in 
■elating a humorous story. To one in particular, though of a trifling 
lature, I am told he gave irresistible effect. A man named Jones 
lad undertaken to eat a bushel of beans with a proportionable quan- 
ity of bacon. A vast crowd assembled before the front of a public 
lOuse at Kensington Gravel-pits, and Garrick happened to be present. 
The crowd were there a long time before the man appeared, and he 
ame forward without his coat, and his shirt-sleeves tied with red 
ibands. He was well received, and a large dish of boiled beansf 
nth a huge lump of bacon was placed before him ; he began to eat 
nth vigour, but at length was so slow in his progress that the people 
lecame impatient. He suddenly arose, ran into the house, and 
scaped through a back door. The mob then broke every window 
1 the house, tore up all the benches, and severely ill-treated the 
indlord and his wife. Garrick's imitation of the cries of the mob 
efore the man appeared ; the continual noise of " Jones," and 
Beans," to bring him forward ; his imitation of the man, and de- 
cription of the whole event, were exquisitely diverting. 



CHAPTER XXIX. 

5arry. This actor was the great competitor of Garrick when 
ley were both in the meridian of their fame, but as Barry was in 
le decline of life and very infirm when I saw him perform, it would 
ot become me to enter into a criticism of his merits, compared with 
is great and unrivalled contemporary. Infirm as Barry was, there 
("ere majestic remains in his person and manner. His two great 



500 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

parts were Othello and Romeo, but he had resigned both of those 
characters before my time. I saw him perform King Lear after I 
had seen Garrick perform the same character, but he appeared ta 
me to be feeble by comparison. 

Barry was originally a silversmith, and kept a shop in Dublift 
before he was struck with theatrical ambition. He was handsome, 
tall, and well-made, but not having acquired the Chesterfield graces, 
it is said that the Prince of Wales, the father of George the Third,, 
advised him to take a few lessons from a dancing-master who was 
patronised by his royal highness, and Barry was wise enough to 
profit by the condescending recommendation. I was told by a friend 
of Barry, who knew him well, that he excelled in telling Irish stories, 
of which he had a great abundance. The same gentleman informed! 
me that as Barry, from his previous employment and habits, had noti 
the advantage of much education, he was unable to mingle in literary 
conversation, but that whenever such topics occurred, he always con- 
trived, with the most ingenious address, to shift the discourse to sub- 
jects upon which he was competent to enter, so that his deficiency, 
was effectually concealed from all but those who were intimately 
acquainted with his origin and pursuits. He was said to be remark- 
ably good-tempered and ready to do kind offices. I saw him perform 
Timon of Athens, Horatio in " The Fair Penitent," and Lord 
Hastings in " Jane Shore." I well remember the grandeur of his 
deportment, even in the midst of his infirmities. In the scene pre- 
ceding the removal of Hastings for execution, while taking leave oi 
Alicia, I never witnessed any thing more impressive, and I remember 
my agitation was so great that I could hardly keep my seat. H© 
peculiarly excelled in delivering a soliloquy, and, instead of appear- 
ing to address an audience, he walked as if venting his thoughts and 
feelings by himself He was a great actor, though not a Garrick. 

Mrs. Crawford. This actress, the widow of the eminent actori 
■whom I have just mentioned, was Mrs. Dancer when I first saw hen 
I was not able to form any judgment of her merits. She was at 
that period brought from Dublin by Barry, who was then married,! 
but on the death of his wife she became Mrs. Barry. 

It is a strong proof of the good-nature of Mrs. Barry that she 
could subdue her resentment, after such an unprovoked and un-i 
merited insult as that passed on her by Mr. Kelly. Mrs. Barry's' 
voice was sometimes harsh, but generally musical, and some of her 
tones were so tender that it was impossible to resist them. It was 
usual with her when she had delivered any impassioned speech, to be 
inattentive to dumb-show, and to appear unconcerned in the scene . 
but when she resumed her attention to the character, she entirely 
recovered her ground, and excited as warm a sympathy as if she hati 
not displayed a momentary lapse. Her Rosalind was the most per- 
fect representation of the character that, in m.y opinion, I had evei 
"witnessed. It was tender, animated, and playful to the highest de- 
gree. She gave the cuckoo song with admirable humour. Hei 
Cordelia was irresistibly affecting, and so was the whole round of her 



MRS. BARRY — MR. AND MRS. YATES. 201 

tragic characters. In the " Irish Widow" her comic powers were 
not less effective. 

After her marriage with Mr. Crawford, who was young enough ta 
be her son, her talents evidently declined ; the consequence, accord- 
ing to report, of her domestic vexations. It was, indeed, an impru- 
dent union. I was present at the first meeting of Mrs. Barry and 
Mrs. Yates on the stage ; and the emulative efforts of both, in Alicia 
and Jane Shore, afforded the most gratifying result to the audience. 
jNever was there a greater struggle for admission than on that occa- 
ision. The neighbouring streets were as much thronged as on any 
royal visit to the theatre. Mrs. Barry held forth a lesson to people 
^o watch over their manners as well as their conduct ; for she who 
was once so elegant in her deportment, became rough and coarse, 
and her person also was so much impaired, that in her latter days 
she had the appearance of an old man rather than one of the 
softer sex. 

When Mr. Stephen Kemble had the managem.ent of the Edinburgh 
theatre, he commissioned me to offer her handsome terms to play a 
few nights at Edinburgh, about the time of Christmas ; but she de- 
clined the proposal, alleging that she could not encounter a winter 
in Scotland, and shrugging up her shoulders with the anticipation 
of cold just in such a manner as might be expected from the 
lower order of women, exhibiting altogether a pitiable degeneracy of 
iemeanour. 

Mrs. Yates appeared to me to be the most commanding and dig- 
lified v/oman I had ever seen, previous to the appearance of Mrs. 
Siddons. She played to perfection Medea, Margaret of Anjou, the 
Duchess of Braganza, and characters of a similar description. I do 
lot think she was qualified either for parts of tenderness or for 
:omedy. I never happened to be in company with her, but have 
leard that her manners were easy and attractive. 

With Mr. Yates I was well acquainted. When I knew him, he 
lad reached a very advanced age, but he had good health and all 
he spirit of youth. I remember dining with him at the late Mr. 
^ewis Weltje's, on Hammersmith Mall, when he told us many 
heatrical anecdotes, and actually gave some turns of a hornpipe after 
linner. He said he was in the theatrical company at Ipswich when 
^arrick first appeared on the stage in that town, under the name of 
iddel, in the character of Aboan, in the play of " Oroonoko." 

Yates was one of those actors who think for themselves and dis- 
regard all traditionary gestures and manners. When he had a part 

act, he immediately endeavoured to discover some person whose 
leportment and disposition resembled it, or searched his memory for 

1 former model. Such was his theory, as I learned from him. He 
kas not so sportive as Parsons, but he was more correct and charac- 
teristic. He performed a part in Cumberland's tragedy of " The 
vlysterious Father" in so unaffected a manner, and with such an 
!xact conformity to life, that it was the most perfect delusion I ever 
)eheld on the stage in characters of the familiar drama. 



202 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

Churchill has been too severe on him in his "Rosciad," in repre- 
sentincr him as only fit for clowns and such parts ; for though not; 
qualified to perform polished characters, yet he gave those m middle 
life with correctness, force, and impressive effect. His Sir Johni 
Restless and his Major Oakley will, perhaps, never be excelled. 
But the part for which he was chiefly celebrated was Shakspeare & 
Lance with his dog. He was inteUigent, shrewd, and prudent, and! 
lived always like a liberal man in his domestic character. 

My father was always fond of the drama, and became acquainted) 
with many of the actors, of some of whom he used to take tickets fori 
their benefits. The first whom I remember that used to visit ouri 
house in Hatton Garden, was Mr. Ackman, who v/as but an inferior 
performer, though an intelligent and worthy man. He is mentioned 
by Churchill in his " Rosciad," very slightly indeed, yet the very cir-i 
cumstance of his introduction in that poem proves that he was noti 
wholly below critical notice. There was always good sense m his 
performances, though not animated by genius, but his figure was by 
no means calculated for heroic characters, whatever his talents might 

have been. • , i i • ir ^ 

There was one character in v^hich he distinguished himselt, and; 
that was Kate Matchlock in the comedy of " The Funeral, or Grieij 
A-la-mode." He never associated with the lower actors in public- '< 
houses, but kept up a connexion with respectable tradesmen, gentle- ' 
men of the law, and medical men. He lived in chambers in Gray's 
Inn, where he was found dead one morning on the stairs, having died 
in a fit of apoplexy. He was much regretted by his professional 
brethren and many friends. 

The next of the theatrical fraternity who used to frequent my 
father's house was Mr. Hurst. He had been a country manager, buij 
at length made his way to Drury-lane theatre during the manage' 
ment of Garrick. Hurst was a tall, stout man, with a great deal oij 
sarcastic humour in private life. He was a favourite of the ladies iti J 
the earlier part of his engagement at Drury-lane theatre, but hi;f 
method of courtship, as far as I can recollect, was not such as woulcf 
be likely to be equally successful with the fair sex of the presenti 
times, whose manners in general are more refined, and their knowledge; 
more enlarged, than they were at the time alluded to. He used t(| 
call a young lady that pleased him " a lovely villain," " a dear rascal,';[ 
and similar designations. He used to romp with them and disordeJii 
their hair, pulling out their curls, and treating them altogether with i i 
kind of rustic familiarity.* I was acquainted with one young lady" 
a woman of good sense, of taste, and fond of reading, who was cap' 
tivated by this strange, forward, rough courtship, and would hav 
married him if her father had not interfered. 

» This manner of wooing, howerer, seems to give some support to Waller' 
©pinion : — 

Women, born to be controll'd, ! 

Stoop to the forward and the bold. ' 



MR. IIURST. 20^ 

Hurst was an actor quite of the ordinary stamp, but I remember 
seeing him perform Sciolto, for his own benefit, at Drury-]ane theatre 
which he played with great feeUng, and he seemed to make a strong 
impression on the audience. He was a member of the Bucks' Lodge 
perhaps now extinct, and the members, I recollect, filled the front of 
the boxes, in all their official parade and dignity. Having numerous 
connexions, and finding his salary not adequate to support the rank 
to which he aspired, he became a brandy merchant. 
j While he was performing one of the characters in " The Re- 
hearsal," soon after he had assumed this business, Garrick, who, in 
irepresenting Bayes, usually introduced some temporary or personal 
joke, on one occasion thus addressed Hurst : " Sir, "said he, " you are 
an actor, and I understand a brandy-merchant ; now, sir, let me 
^dvise you to put less spirit in your liquor and more in your actings 
^nd you will preserve the health of your friends, and be more approved 
by the pubhc." This sally was well received, and, as Garrick intended, 
augmented his customers. After Garrick resigned the management 
of Drury-lane theatre, Hurst, as I understood, went to Liverpool^ 
where he was engaged as a performer, but age and infirmities came 
upon him, and he relinquished the theatrical profession. An unlucky 
circumstance once occurred to him, which naturally excited lauo-hter 
imong the audience. He had a row of false teeth, which, white he 
fvas delivering some emphatic passage on the stage, flew from his 
Bouth, and he became inarticulate till they were restored to their 
brmer situation. 

When Hurst was first engaged at Drury-lane theatre, he was for 
;ome tune kept in the background, and, therefore, having some 
iterary friend concerned in a newspaper, a paragraph appeared^ 
eprehending the manager for not giving suitable encouragement to 
lis talents. Garrick, who was very sensitive on all such occasions, 
ent to him, and sarcastically complimented him on his literary talents! 
^urst assured him that he was not the author, and imputed the" 
rticle to some officious friend. Garrick, who had not a resentful 
lind, easily overlooked the offence, brought the actor more forward, 
nd occasionally invited him to Hampton. 

It is said that a relation of Hurst died in the East Indies, and be- 
ueathed a considerable sum to him. His mind had become imbecile, 
nd he employed the chief part of this property in purchasing dresses 
)r the stage, as if he had resolved upon resuming the management of 
I theatre ; and if" the fell sergeant" had not carried him off before it 
yas all gone, he might have been reduced to a precarious dependance 
n his brethren of the sock and buskin. Such was the fate of my 
ither's old acquaintance. Hurst had one peculiarity in his theatrical 
ehvery. Actors in general drop their voices at the close of a 
pntence, but he uniformly ended every sentence with the rising in- 
ection~a circumstance somewhat strange, as the other practice 
;ems to operate by a sort of contagion among theatrical performers 
f either sex. 

The next whom I remember of my father's theatrical friends, but 



204 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

the remembrance is faint, was Mr. Adam Hallam. This actor, who 
was a well-educated man, and a perfect gentleman in his deportment, 
possessed constant good spirits and a lively humour. He is mentioned 
in Davies's " Miscellanies" as so good an imitator of the deportment 
of the celebrated Wilks, the contemporary of Betterton, Booth, and 
Cibber, that Rich was tempted to engage ^m on a large salary for 
seven years, at the end of which he was dismissed, and quitted the 
sta^e. He, however, was allowed the privilege of issuing tickets 
eveiy season for his benefit, half of which was for the theatre and 
half for himself. This practice is still in use, I believe, at both the 
London theatres. . . 

As Mr. Hallam derived his chief support from this resource, it is 
probable that he had many friends. He is mentioned with respect 
and gratitude by Mrs. Clarke in her own " Memoirs," as having la^ 
ceived great kindness from him in the hour of adversity. Mi^ 
Clarke was the youngest daughter of Colley Cibber. She was 
married to Mr. Clarke, one of the musicians of the theatre. Her 
life was dissipated, if not profligate, and she was banished from the 
parental roof. On the death of her husband, she became veiy much 
embarrassed, and to protect herself from creditors, during the tim^ 
that marriages were easily performed at the Fleet prison; she gave aji 
small sum to an old fisherman, who stood at a stall in Fleet-market, 
to marry her. She obtained a certificate of the marriage, and quitted 
her husband, who never saw her again. My father remembered the 
man, who was old and little better than an idiot, whom it would have 
been madness to trouble for the debts of his wife. 

Mr. Hallam translated the "Beggar's Opera" into French, and 
carried it to Paris, in hopes of procuring a representation of it on the 
French stage, but the manager would not consent, unless he agreed 
that the hero of the piece should be hanged. Mr. Hallam, from 
respect for the memory of Gay, would not suffer the piece to be 
altered. Mr. Davies says, that the translation was afterward re-i 
presented in the Haymarket theatre with some success.^ Hallam 
was the uncle of Mrs. Mattocks, formerly Miss Hallam, a populan 
comic actress, with whom I was well acquainted, and who seemed 
to be much gratified when I told her that I recollected her uncle ir; 
my early days. 

The next of my father's theatrical friends was Mr. David Ross 
who was related to an ancient family in Scotland, at the head o 
•whom, in his time, was Sir Walter Ross. Ross had the reputatioi 
of being a good actor in tragedy, and in both the hvelier and grave 
parts of comedy. I have seen him in King Lear and Othello, and i 
I could not at that time judge of his merit, I remember at least tha 
he was much applauded in both characters. He was admired, / 
understand, in the character of Wellbred in " Every Man in hii 
Humour," and I have good reason to believe that Colley Cibber tol( 
him he was the best Young Bevil, in " The Conscious Lovers,"" thai 
he had seen since the days of Barton Booth. 

Ross was Master of the Revels in Scotland, and the proprietor o 



MR. AND MRS. EOSS. 205 

the Edinburgh theatre, with which he parted, as it was said, without 
adequate security. He was very fond of the pleasures of th© table, 
and ate himself into so unseemly a shape, that he could not procure 
a situation on the London boards. I retained mj acquaintance with 
him after the death of his wife, and as long as he remained in London. 
His wife was the celebrated Fanny Murray, who, according to the 
general estimation, was the greatest purchaseable beauty of her day. 
At the time I became acquainted with her, when visiting her husband, 
with whom I used to play at backgammon, her beauty was more 
than on the wane, but she had pleasing features and an agreeable 
cou'ntenftce. I remember her showing me a miniature, representing 
a lady of exquisite beauty, painted, I .believe, in enamel. She asked 
if I khew the original of that.portrait ; and though her face must have 
undergone much alteration, yet I could trace the resemblance, and 
she seemed to be^ihch gratified in finding that I knew it to be a 
portrait of herself. 

There was nothing in tier manner or conversation that in the slight- 
est degree indicated the free life from which she had been rescued by 
marriage. Vfhatever her face might have been, her form was short, 
and Ijy ho means elegant. When Ross married her, he did so from 
motives of real affection, for he was then in possession of the public 
favour, and had a good^salary at the theatre. She was certainly not 
a suitable companion for Ross, whose conversation more resembled 
the dialogue of Congreve's wits than that of any other person I ever 
knew. He also excelled in telling a humorous story. 

On the do^th of his wife, being unable to obtain a theatrical engage- 
ment, he became embarrassed in his circumstances. It was reported 
that, as Fanny Murray had been originally seduced by one of the 
noble house of Spencer, she received from a branch of that family an 
annuity of 200/. This allowance, of course, ceased at her death. 
Poor Ross therefore represented his situation to the head of that 
family, and was allowed a moiety of the annuity for the remainder of 
ins life. I never certainly heard of his death, or where it happened, 
but wasjold that he died in the infirmary at York. Such, indeed, 
was pi^bably the end of my old friend, after having represented kings, 
heroes, lovers, and all the illustrious characters of the drama, even 
during the reign of Garrick. 

Iteheld the powers of Garrick in the highest estimation ; and when 
I oiiP asked which he thought was Garrick's chief performance, he 
said that m his opinion it was Hamlet. As a proof of the vene^-ation 
m which he held the genius of Garrick, he prided himself on having 
3een born on the same day in the same month, sixteen years after 
thlt unrivalled ornament of the stage, and on having been christened 
by the name of David. 

It may not be improper to mention in honour of his wife, that, just 
aefore the marriage ceremony was performed, the officiating priest 
iesired the bride to withdraw with him for a few minutes into the 
srestry-room.^ She consented, and he, delicately but solemnly alluding 
to her past life, told her that marriage was an awful and a sacred tie, 



205 REeORDS dF MY LIFE. 

and that unless she had determined to forsake all others and cleave |i 
only to her future husband, she would plunge herself into dreadful 
guilt by entering into the holy state. She appeared to be much af- 
fected at his doubts, but mildly assured him that it was her fixed reso- 
lution to lead a new life, and' thereby endeavour to atone for former 
errors. The ceremony was then performed, and from that moment 
her conduct was unimpeached, and probably unimpeachable. 

Poor Ross, when his age and size prevented his being reinstated 
on the London boards, used to vent his complaints against the mana- 
gers in homely but emphatic terms. I remember some of his repinmg 
language, which was as follows : " They (the managers) will^ not let 
me follow my business, work at my trade, and earn my bread." The 
truth is, that he was too indulgent to his appetite. 

Churchill says of him, too justly, in the " Rosciad :" 

Ross, a misfortune that we often meet, 
Was fast asleep at fair Statira's feet ; 
Statira, with her hero to agree, 
Stood on her feet as fast asleep as he. 

I remember to have asked him who was the Statira alluded to, and 
he said that he did not recollect, but believed it was Mrs. Bellamy. 

Ross was, indeed, too apt to slumber over some scenes, and upon 
one occasion received such a rough rebuke from the audience as 
roused him into active exertion, and he then threw out such striking, 
and impressive beauties that censure was immediately converted into ) 
the warmest approbation. He was a very tardy paymaster, and at , 
one time when he was in arrears with his laundress, and she hadi 
brought his Hnen, she declared she would not leave it till he paidi 
her what was her due. The footman told his master what she said, , 
when he desired her to be shown up-stairs. She was told to place; 
her basket on the ground, and Ross drew it near the bed-room door.. 
He examined the linen to see if it was right, taking his shirts and ^ 
other articles one by one, and throwing them upon the bed. When 
he had emptied the basket and locked the door, " Now, madam," said 
he, " for your impudent speech I shall not pay you till I please." The 
poor woman, mortified to be thus overreached and disappointed, burst 
into tears ; and then Ross had the good-nature to relent and pay her 
demand. If she had acted otherwise, it is probable the pay-day 
would have been adjourned sine die. • r n. 

I do not remember to have seen more than one portrait of Ross, 
though I have a faint notion that there is a print of him in the character 
of Comus. The portrait I allude to was a whole-length of him painted 
by Zoffani, of the same size as his admirable dramatic portraits of Gar- 
rick, Foote, Palmer, &c. I went to see it at the house of the artist, 
by Ross's desire. He is represented in the character of Hamlet. I| 
is a very correct likeness both of his figure and features. He told 1 
me that it was painted for Sir Walter Ross, the head of his family , 
and was to be sent to Scotland. To my surprise, I saw this identical i 
picture in the dramatic gallerv of Mr. Matthews, the comic actor, oU 4 



NED SHUTER. 207 

the Highgate road. I naturally asked Mr. Matthews how he became 

possessed of it ; and he told me that he bought it of Mr. Rock, a good 
representative of low Irish parts at Covent Garden theatre, and who 
was afterward engaged in Scotland. 

The last time I saw Ross perform was in the character of Strick- 
land in the comedy of " The Suspicious Husband." If he had been 
contented to resign the higher characters of tragedy when his fio-ure 
became unfit for them, and had confined himself to the level of such 
characters as Strickland, it is probable that he would not have wanted 
an engagement at Covent Garden theatre; as from his education, 
good sense, and knowledge of hfe, he was much better calculated to 
ido justice to them than those to whom such characters are usually 
assigned. 



' CHAPTER XXX. 

Mr. Shuter, or Ned Shuter, as he was usually styled, was a comic 
actor of first-rate ability, and I have been assured that Mr. Garrick 
pronounced him the greatest comic genius he had ever seen. I re- 
member him in Justice Woodcock, Scrub, Peachum, and Sir Francis 
Gripe. As far as I can remember him, his acting was a compound 
of truth, simplicity, and luxuriant humour, if such qualities can unite 
and.be coexistent. Never was an actor more popular than Shuter, 
fet I do not remember to have seen more than one or two prints of 
lim, from pictures by Zoffani, in dramatic scenes, while there are in- 
lumerable representations of Liston in prints, plaster of Paris, and 
)ther forms. But the arts have improved surprisinglysince the davs 
Df Shuter. 

Here I must pause to say, that Liston is one of the most original actors 
^hom I ever saw, and in some characters he is irresistibly diverting. 
[ remember that soon after the public became sensible of his merit" 
\Irs. Abington asked me if I liked him, and having expressed my 
iigh opinion of his comic talents, she said, " For my part, I doat on 
lim, and the more so because he is as ugly as myself." This favour- 
able opinion, given by an admirable comic actress, of long experience,, 
md who had seen so many first-rate performers, must be acceptable 
:o Mr. Liston, though not complimentary to his person. Churchill 
lays of Shuter in his " Rosciad,"— 

Shuter, who never cared a single pin, 

Wiiether he left out nonsense or put in. :'"'"■: t 

This was really a true description of the actor, except that he pos» 
essed genuine humour, and whenever he sported an addition to the 
halogue, it was always analogous to the character which he was per- 
prming. ^ 

K3 



208 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

To Shuter I was introduced by my father when I was very young, 
and remember passing an evening with my father and him at a tavern 
called the Blue Posts, in Russell-street, Covent Garden. All the 
company who were in the other boxes devoted their whole attention 
to Shuter, who told humorous stories, or uttered bons-mots, which de- 
lighted his hearers. Some time after, going through Hart-street, 
Bloomsbury, about twelve in the morning, I saw Shuter smartly 
dressed, and could not help making myself known to him. He said 
he was glad to " see a chip of the old block," and invited me into 
the public-house in that street, to partake of a glass of brandy- 
and- water. I was proud of the honour of being noticed by this 
popular droll, and readily accepted the invitation. He soon began 
to relate some theatrical stories, with which I was delighted. I re- 
collect, however, only one. He said that old Hippsley, the actor, had 
suffered severely in his face at a fire, which gave such a ludicrous 
cast to his features, that the audience always laughed when he ap- 
peared on the stage. He once consulted Quin on the profession to 
which he should bring up his son, whom he described as a very pro- 
mising boy. Quin, who thought that all Hippsley's comic merit de- 
pended on the whimsical turn of his features, roughly said, " Burn his 
face, and make him an actor." Quin always pronounced the letter a 
broad, as in brass, and in that manner Shuter related the story. 

Hippsley, I understood, was reputed a good comic actor before 
he suffered by the accident. He was celebrated for delivering a 
soliloquy of his own composing, called " Hippsley's Drunken Man." 
He was the father of Mrs. Green, an admirable actress in the virago 
parts of comedy, and the first old Margaret in the opera of " The s 
Duenna." 

There was a place within my remembrance called Finch's Grotto 
Gardens. It was a minor Vauxhall, and was situated near the King's 
Bench prison. There was a grotto in the middle of the garden, an, 
orchestra, and a rotunda. The price of admission was sixpence,, 
and the place was much frequented. When the musical powers of: 
Lowe, generally called Tom or Tommy Lowe, were so much im- 
paired that he could not procure an engagement at the patent thea- 
tres, he was reduced to the necessity of accepting one at these Grotto 
Gardens, and his first appearance was announced in the newspapers. 
As my father was well acquainted with Lowe in his prosperity, he 
took me with him to assist in cheering him on his appearance. There 
we found Shuter, with some friends, ready to encourage his old as- 
sociate. Lowe sung a hunting-song with evident decay of musical 
talents ; but when it was ended, Shuter, who stood immediately be- 
low the orchestra, shouted " Bravo, Tom, your voice is as good as 
ever ;" but my father, who had known him in his best days, told me 
that Shuter's applause was merely an effusion of friendly zeal. At 
the end of the concert, Shuter remained in the gardens, and went to 
sup in one of the boxes. The place was crowded, and the people 
thronged round the box to hear the humorous sallies of Shuter, inso- 
much that the waiters passed with difficulty ; there was a great de- 



TOM LOWE. 209 

Btruction of plates and dishes in the struggle, and abundance of knives 
and forks were scattered over the ground. No person thought of re- 
tiring while Shuter remained, and I remember seeing him in the midst 
of his friends as if he were the monarch of merriment. 

Lowe, I understood, had once a very fine voice, but had no musical 
science. When Handel had quarrelled with Beard, he intended to 
engage Lowe for the oratorios, but finding him deficient in musical 
knowledge, was obliged to make peace with Beard, who, besides pos- 
sessing a good voice, was a sound musician. Poor Lowe was at last 
reduced to accept an engagement at Sadler's Wells, where I saw 
him habited as an old barber, and referring to some women in the 
scene, he chanted in recitative the following couplet, among others of 
equal poetic elegance : 

Mop-Bqueezers, I hate 'em, 
By this pomatum I 

In the same dramatic piece. Harlequin, on discovering his father, ex- 
pressed his filial affection in the following manner :— 

It gives me joy that thou'rt my pappy : 
To do thy will shall make me happy. 

Such was the pitiable destiny of Lowe, who was once so admired 
a singer, that I remember the following passage of a popular song 
which announced his vocal merits : 

^ i The first that e'er was born 
To sing- the early morn, 
Was famous Tommy Lowe. 

When and where he died I know not, but it was probably in obscu- 
rity and want. Yet he was once the proprietor of Marylebone 
Gardens, and had kept his carriage. 

A friend of my father who was acquainted with Lowe, told me 
that he saw him going in his chariot to Marylebone Gardens soon 
after he became master of them, with a large iron trunk behind it, 
which he told the gentleman he had purchased to place the profits 
of the gardens in. He was a well-behaved man when sober, but 
very quarrelsome and abusive in his cups. He had a brother who 
kept a public-house in Bunhill-row, and had an annual dinner, which 
Lowe always attended, to serve his brother by entertaining the 
guests ; but he generally got drunk, then became quarrelsome and 
abusive, insomuch as to excite general disgust, and was more than 
once absolutely turned out of the house. 

The last time I saw him was in a narrow lane near Aldersgate- 
street. He was coming out of a butcher's shop, with some meat in 
an old blue and white checked handkerchief. With an air of covered 
pride, he told me that he always bought meat himself, and that no 
man understood better how to choose a beef-steak. His name is to 



210 RECOKDS OF MY LIFE. 

foe found in all the old song-books of Vauxhall and Marylebone Gar- 
dens. I never saw more than one print of him, and that represented 
him and Mrs. Chambers in the characters of Macheath and Polly. 

To retm'n to Shuter : he was never without a joke or a whimsical 
story. He used to give the cries of London on his annual benefit at 
the theatre ; and the day before one of these benefits, he followed 
through several streets a man whose cry of his wares was peculiar. 
At last Shuter stopped him, told him he was Ned Shuter, and had 
followed him for half an hour in hopes to hear his usual cry. " Why, 
Master Shuter," said the man, " my wife died this morning, and / 
carit cryT 

On another occasion a mendicant, who knew him, said in a piteous 
tone, " Pi'ay, Mr. Shuter, give me something, for you see I have but 
one shoe in the world." " No !" said Shuter, who never could con- 
trol his waggish disposition, " then there's a pair for you," offering a 
Windsor pear which he happened to have in his pocket. , Having 
however had his joke, he liberally ^^elieved the man's distress. 

Poor Shuter was too fond of the bottle, and injured his health so 
much that, though the character of Don Jerome in " The Duenna" 
■was first intended for him, his health and faculties v/ere so much im- 
paired that it was assigned to Wilson, who somewhat resembled him, 
and whose performance of it much augmented his reputation. 

When I said that Mr. Ackman was my father's first theatrical 
acquaintance, I had forgot his old friend Mr. Peter Bardin. This 
gentleman was a native of Ireland, and one of the estabhshed per- 
formers at the theatre in Goodman's Fields at the time when Garrick 
first appeared upon the London boards at the same theatre. Bardin i 
was the last of the old school of Booth, Wilks, and other actors, who 
•were much distinguished in their day. Bardin gave some oflTence to 
the audience during his connexion with Goodman's Fields, and public 
hostility was so strong against him, that he thought proper to with- 
draw from that theatre, and soon after became the manager of a i 
provincial company. 

Chetwood, in his " History of the Stage," which was published in 
1749, has introduced Mr. Bardin among all the chief performers of 
ihe time, particularly the Gibbers, Garrick, Barry, &c. and refers to 
the event which induced the audience to be incensed against him, but 
does not state the occasion, so that it cannot now be known. Chet- 
wood speaks of Bardin as having '• bent his thoughts towards the 
stage very early in youth, and as having seen the performance of the 
best actors in England upon the London stages." He adds, that " his 
long intercourse with theatrical action improved his study, and that' 
few parts came amiss to him." Though he does not state the cause 
of the public displeasure, he introduces an article taken from one of 
ihe public journals of the time, entitled " A small Animadversion on 
a late Officer at the Playhouse." Yet this article is equally silent as 
to the cause, but represents it " as a private dispute between some- 
body in the gallery and Bardin the actor." It may, however, be in- 
ferred that Bardin's opponent, instead of confining the dispute to 



MR. PETER BARDIN. ' 211 

himself and the actor, appealed to the audience, and rendered it the 
subject of dissension in the theatre. The author says, " If Bardin 
had done any unwarrantable and injurious thing to a gentleman, Bar- 
din should have made proper and ample satisfaction in his private 
capacity for the offence. The audience had no right in, nor care 
for Bardin, but they certainly have for Prince Volcius ; he was their 
player, they had paid for him." Hence we may conclude, that as no 
accusation is brought against him, he suffered by private pique, which 
raised a party against him. 

Bardin had been intimate with Mr. Donaldson, whom I have before 
mentioned, and also with the Earl of Halifax, and had reason to 
believe that he should obtain some appointment from that nobleman 
after he had wholly relinquished his provincial theatres ; but though 
promised his lordship's patronage, he lingered years in expectation, 
and all his hopes at last ended in disappointment. In the mean time, 
he supported himself in London by engaging in the wine-trade by 
commission, and in giving instruction to candidates for theatrical dis- 
tinction. He afterward went to Ireland, and by his connexion with 
Mr. Conolly, and other distinguished members of the Irish parlia- 
ment, obtained the situation of postmaster in Dublin. Before, how- 
ever, he obtained this appointment, he came to London with Barry, 
when the latter brought Mrs. Dancer with him, and they were both 
engaged by Foote at the Haymarket theatre. 

I remember to have seen him play Gloucester when Barry per- 
formed King Lear; but he did not appear under his own name, 
though it is hardly probable that after so distant a period his old ene- 
mies in Goodman's Fields, if alive, would have renewed their hos- 
tility. I have a very faint recollection of his performance, but as 
far as I can remember, it partook of the formal school which Garrick 
so completely overturned by the spirit of truth, nature, and appro- 
priatQ character. It may fairly be concluded that Chetwood would 
not have introduced Bardin among the chief performers in the bio- 
graphical part of his history of the stage, unless he had been an actor 
of conspicuous merit ; particularly as he declined to give his opinion 
of Bardin's conduct in the affair alluded to, but rather by his manner 
of mentioning the subject seems to have disapproved of that conduct. 

I remember Bardin well in private life. He was a true specimen 
of the spirit and humour of the Irish character. Though advanced 
in life when I knev/ him, his health was good, and his spirit unabated. 
He was intimate with Hugh Kelly and the wits of the time, who, 
with my father and other friends, were fond of playing at skittles at 
White "Conduit House and Bagnigge Wells, before he finally settled 
in Dublin ; and I was proud of being employed by such a company 
to set up the pins. 

Bardin was esteemed an admirable judge of acting, and an excel- 
lent instructer of those who were students for the stage. He was 
particularly intimate with Mr. O'Hara, the author of " Midas," one 
of the best burlettas, if not the very best in our language. He sang 
all the songs in it with great spirit, and must obviously have been in 



212 RECOKDS OF MY LIFE. _ 

his youth an actor of considerable talents and versatility. There 
was a conciliating heartiness in his manner that I never observed 
in any other person, which I have witnessed on several occasions. I 
■was particularly struck with one instance, which may appear too 
trifling to be recorded, except that it illustrates character and shows 
the effect of manner. 

I was once with him at an inn in Aldersgate-street, having accom- 
panied him as he was going off the same night to Ireland. The por- 
ter had been on errands for him, and was telling him what he had 
done, and how carefully he had disposed of his great coat and lug- 
gage. Bardin, who seldom possessed more cash than was absolutely 
necessary for immediate expenses, and who had learned prudence in 
the school of adversity, listened attentively to all the man said^ 
thanked him for his care, gave him a friendly tap on the shoulder, and 
with a hearty fervour said, "Well, my friend, there's an honest six- 
pence for you." The man was evidently disappointed at so small a 
recompense for the services which he had enumerated, but was so 
overcome by the open-hearted freedom of Bardin's manner, thaty 
scratching his head, he said, " Well, I thank you, master, however ;'* 
though it is probable that such a trifle from persons in general, after 
such service, would have been answered with reproach and abuse. 

It is scarcely necessary to remind the reader, that it is recorded of 
Charles the First and Second, that people would rather be pleased 
with a refusal from the easy and gay familiarity of the son, than 
receive a favour from the grave dignity and reserve of the father. 
Mr. Sheridan had a very cenciliating manner, but of a very different 
kind ; for he would speak to a stranger in company with a sort of con- 
fidential air, as if he had been struck with the countenance of th& 
person whom he addressed, and thought him not only a man of sense,^ 
but one in whom confidence might safely be reposed. This manner 
seemed to be wholly unaffected, and was generally practised upon 
Ms creditors, who, however angry and determined to enforce their 
demands, were so soothed by his manner, even without promises of 
payment, that they quitted him with feelings quite altered, and dis- 
posed to wait a little longer. I never, indeed, witnessed a manner 
more irresistibly winning and effective. 



CHAPTER XXXL 

Mr. John Henderson. I had so slight an acquaintance with this- 
gentleman that I can speak little of him in his personal character^ 
He was, I understand, apprenticed to some mechanical art, but before 
he assumed the theatrical profession was admired for his good sense. 
humour, and imitative powers. His introduction to a theatrical life 
must doubtless have been, as is usual, upon some provincial theatre. 



MR. JOHN HENDERSON. 213 

hut he first became an object of critical attention on the Bath stage. 
He first appeared in London at the Haymarket theatre, when under 
the management of the elder Colman, who was not only a skilful 
dramatist, but an excellent critic, a sound scholar, and, as I have 
heard, a very able amateur performer. Henderson excited great 
attention when he first appeared in London. The character was 
Hamlet, and, if not a great, it was certainly a judicious performance. 
In a short time he became so popular and attractive that he excited 
great jealousy among his theatrical compeers, and my old friend 
Ross, though a liberal man, styled him " the tar- water actor," alluding 
to the once famous tar- water, recommended by the amiable Berkeley^ 
Bishop of Cloyne, but which had only a fleeting popularity, and when 
Henderson appeared on the London stage was quite forgotten. 

Henderson's face and person were not fitted for tragedy, but he 
was an excellent comedian ; and though his Falstafl was the most 
facetious I ever saw, yet it always struck me that it was a mixture 
of the old woman with the old man. He laughed and chuckled 
almost throughout the character, and his laugh, like that of Mrs. 
Jordan, spread a merry contagion, which might be said to infect the 
whole audience. His Benedict was so close an imitation of Garrick 
that my dear mother, who was an excellent judge, when we saw it 
together one night observed, that if it were not for the difference in 
person, she should have thought Garrick was performing. He was 
a good Shylockj and was the first who differently pointed the follow- 
ing passage ; 

" Signer Antonio, many a time and oft, on the Rialto," &c. 

" Many a fime and oft," was generally considered as a common pro- 
verbial expression, but Henderson pointed it thus : 

" Signor Antonio, many a time, and oft on the Rialto" Sic. 

implying that Antonio had not only generally " bated" him, but oft 
even on the Rialto, " where merchants most do congregate." What- 
ever the critics may decide on this alteration,^ it certainly is ingeniouSj, 
and shows that Henderson was disposed to think for himself. 

I remember that Mr. Brereton the actor, one of the handsomest 
men that ever appeared on the stage, the first husband of Mrs. John 
Kemble, introduced a similar innovation when he performed Hamlet, 
at Richmond in Surrey. Hamlet, in addressing the ghost says, 

" I'll call thee king, Hamlet, father, royal Dane," &c. 

Brereton pointed it thus, — 

•' I'll call thee king, Hamlet, father — Royal Dane, oh, answer me !" 

This novelty was the subject of newspaper controversy at the 
time, some of the critics contending that the old mode was a pleonasm^ 

K3 



^14 RECORDS OF MY LIFE, 

and an anti-climax, and others that Hamlet was wrong in calling a 
spectre, perhaps prone to mislead him, " Ro5'al Dane." 

The only serious or tragic character in which Henderson made a 
very powerful impression on the public, was in a domestic tragedy 
"written by Mr. Cumberland, entitled " The Mysterious Husband," 
My late excellent friend, Mr. William Woodfall, who was a sound 
theatrical critic, and a warm admirer of Garrick, had made some ob- 
servations in his daily paper, which Henderson thought severe, and 
the latter retorted in some satirical verses, in which he criticised the 
critic. I have been told that they were very sharp and ingenious, 
but were never published, probably because Henderson did not deem 
H politic to provoke a formidable critic who presided over a daily 
newspaper. 

Henderson was a great lover of money, and for that object even 
sacrificed his attachment to an amiable widow lady, whom I knew, 
though it was generally understood among her friends and his that 
they would be married ; a maiden in Wiltshire, with a fortune of 
5000Z. was too attractive for him to throw himself away on a mere 
love-match. The widow had heard of the matrimonial negotiation, 
and told him that he was reported to be on the eve of marriage. His 
answer was that people had often disposed of him in w^edlock, but he 
hoped they would let him choose for himself; however, in a few days 
after, the newspapers announced his union with the wealthy spinster. 

Henderson's lago was a masterly piece of acting throughout. He 
admirably mingled the subtlety of the character with its reputed blunt 
honesty. His manner of varying his advice to Roderigo, " to put 
money in his purse," was remarkably ingenious ; and so was his 
manner of reciting the verses w^hich he composes by desire of Desde- 
mona. In general, till Henderson's time, performers used to deliver 
those verses as if they had " got them by heart," to use the common 
expression ; but Henderson spoke them gradually, as if he was in- 
venting them by degrees. 

Mr. Thomas Sheridan, father of the celebrated Brinsley, E\nd 
Henderson entered into a partnership to deliver public recitations. 
The serious parts were to be spoken by Mr. Sheridan, and the comic 
by Henderson. Mr. Sheridan gave chiefly passages from his " Lec- 
tures on Oratory," which were in general dull and heavy, but his reci- 
tation of " Alexander's Feast" was animated and impressive to a 
great degree. His recitation on Shenstone's beautiful "Elegy on 
Jesse" was, however, languid ^and heavy. On the other hand, Hen- 
derson's recitations from Sterne, and particularly his recital of Cow- 
par's admirable tale of" John Gilpin," were irresistibly diverting ; the 
latter rendered a tale hardly known popular all over the kingdom, 
and furnished full scope for various artists in illustration of the citizen's 
unlucky journey. 

Here I may be permitted to say, that I am under a similar obli- 
gation to Mr. Fawcett the actor, to whose humorous recital of my 
tale of "Monsieur Tonson" I am probably indebted for its extrordinary 
popularity, rather than to any intrinsic merit in the composition. I 
shall always regret that it is deficient in poetical justice, as the poor 



HENDERSON AWD T. SHKTITDAN ^TOM DA VIES. 215 

victim of sportive persecution was finally driven from his home 
without any compensation for his ludicrous Bufferings. Here it is 
proper to correct a mistake. In the last edition of this tale, with in- 
genious illustrations by one of the Cruickshanks, Tom King, the tor- 
menting hero of the piece, is represented to have been the late Mr. 
Thomas King the actor, a comic performer long admired on Drury- 
lane stage, under the management of Mr. Garrick ; but the Tom 
King of the tale was, as I have understood, the son of a former Arch- 
bishop King of Dublin, in 1721, and I have understood hkewise that 
the tale itself was founded on fact. 

The recitations by Messrs. Sheridan and Henderson were very 
attractive, and the room in which they were delivered was crowded 
every night. 

Henderson v/as, I conceive, the best general actor since the days 
©f Garrick, but wanted the ease and variety of that great and unri- 
valled master of his art. He was at times too elaborate in finishing 
passages in the characters which he assumed, as if he was anxious 
that nothing should be lost which he uttered. Hence in his Sir Giles 
Overreach, though a masterly performance, there was much of that 
laborious solicitude, and too much of it also in his Pierre. Mr. Davies, 
generally called Tom Davies, the well-known bookseller, who was 
befriended by Dr. Johnson and Garrick, and whose " Dramatic Mis- 
cellanies" prove that he possessed literary and critical abilities which 
rendered him worthy of their countenance, gave me the following 
couplet, after Henderson's first appearance in Pierre. 

Otway's bold Pierre was open, generous, brave, 
The Pierre of Henderson's a subtle knave. 

The great pains which Henderson took to render the minutest 
part of the Venetian republican impressive throughout, gave too much 
occasion for that metrical criticism. 

Mr. Davies, or, as he was generally styled, Tom Davies, had left 
the stage before I frequented the theatre, no doubt induced by the 
cruel humour with which Churchill describes him in his admirable 
" Rosciad ;" but he had a benefit-night allowed him by Garrick for 
old acquaintance sake, when he came forward to perform the part of 
Fainall, in the comedy of " The Way of the World." I happened to 
be present. He was an old, formal-looking man, and totally different 
from such a person as we might expect to find in a gay, dissipated 
husband. Before the curtain was drawn up, he came forward, and 
addressed the audience in the following terms. " Ladies and gentle- 
men, I am conscious of my inability to do justice to the character that 
I have undertaken, but I hope you will accept of my best endeavours 
to please." There were many friends of honest Tom in the house, 
and this address, as well as his performance of the part, was received 
with kind applause. Poor Davies did not attend to the good old 
maxim hoc age ; for if he had confined himself to his business as a 
bookseller, and had not indulged his literary ambition, he would pro- 
bably have lived in comfortable circumstances, though he might not 



216 ' RECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

have raised a fortune. What I saw of his acting certainly appeared 
to justify the criticism of Churchill, though not its sportive severity. 
Churchill says — 

Behind came mighty Davies — on my life, 
I That Davies has a very pretty wife. 

Without animadverting upon the impropriety of dragging an in- 
offensiv^e female before the public, it may fairly be concluded, that 
Davies being an avowed politician, verbose principles were different 
from those of Churchill, was the cause of the poet's hostility towards 
him. I once saw the " pretty wife." She was quietly sitting in the 
shop, while her husband was pursuing his literary avocatioils in the 
back-room. She was in the autumn of life, neatly dressed, modest 
in her aspect, with a kind of meek dejection in her features, which 
evidently bore the remains of beauty. It is lamentable to relate. 
what I have been informed was the final destiny of this harmless 
couple. He died in poverty, and was buried at the expense of his 
friends ; and his amiable widow, as I heard, was reduced to the de- 
plorable asylum of the parish workhouse. 

Another bookseller whom I knew, and who had nearly brought 
himself into similar distress, though from a different cause, was my 
late old friend Mr. Becket, who was one of the most eminent book- 
sellers in London. The firm was Becket and De Hont, and they 
published the most valuable works in their day. De Hont retired 
from the business, and went with a large fortune to Holland. Becket 
was not equally provident. He became acquainted with Garrick^ 
and was so fascinated by the conversational powers of that great 
actor, that he devoted to him a great part of his time every morning,. 
The firm of Becket and De Hont was held at a respectable' house 
on the south side of the New Church, in the Strand ; but when the 
Adamses had built the Adelphi, chiefly over old Durham Yard, the 
depository of all the rubbish in the neigbourhood, Mr. Becket re- 
moved to a large house at the south-east corner of Adam-street, in 
the Strand. The expense of this house, and his daily attendance on 
Garrick, with the gradual decline of his business, induced him to re- 
move to a house opposite to the Shakspeare Gallery in- Pall Mall, 
where, by blending the business of a stationer with that of a book- 
seller, he was able to support himself with comfort and respect.. 
He had the credit of publishing, in his latter days, that learned, poeti- 
cal, and admirable work, " The Pursuits of Literature." 

The same sort of mystery hangs over the origin of this work as 
over the letters of Junius, and the heroic " Epistle to Sir William 
Chambers." The suspicion has genemlly fallen upon Mr. Mathias, a 
gentleman whom I have long known and esteemed. It seems to be 
very probable, that if he was not the sole author, he had some concern 
in the composition, for which he was well qualified by his knowledge^ 
Ms abilities, and his determined attachment to the good old political 
constitution of this country. When I was one of the proprietors of a 



" THE PURSUITS OP LITEEATURE." 21T 

daily paper entitled " The True Briton," the late John Gifford, Esq., 
one of the poUce magistrates at a subsequent period, was the editor. 
Struck by the political rectitude and moral tendency, as well as with 
the high poetical merits of " The Pursuits of Literature," the four 
cantos of which were pubhshed successively, he entered into an 
elaborate criticism of the work, upon which he bestowed warm com- 
mendation. Soon after a letter was addressed to the editor of " The 
True Briton," pointing out the poem to the attention of the public at 
large. 

Meeting Mr. Mathias at the King's theatre one evening, and talking^ 
on the subject of the poem, I asked him if he had seen the letter in 
question. I observed that it was probably written by the author of 
the poem. He agreed with me, but said, " If you examine it well, 
you will find that it does not contain any panegyric on the intellectual 
powers displayed in the work, but confines itself to the beneficial 
tendency of particular passages, and the general soundness of its 
constitutional principles." Pursuing the subject;, I observed that as 
he was supposed to be the author of it, it was natural to suppose he 
would strenuously recommend it to general attention. " Ay, ay,"^ 
said he ; "I have suffered much abuse upon the subject, but they 
will find out their mistake hereafter." Whoever was the author, I 
could not but feel highly gratified that I w^as complimented with two 
editions of it " from the author." 

Becket, the publisher, who was faithful to his trust, and, like Junius, 
to use the words of the latter, suffered the secret " to perish with 
him," was a good-humoured man, and whenever I happened to see 
him, I alwaj^s pretended to suppose he was the author, and that I felt 
myself indebted to him for the copies, adding that I hoped he would 
soon bring forward another edition of a work so honourable to his- 
learning, talents, and principles. He with his usual good-humour, 
thanked me for entertaining so favourable an opinion of his powers, 
adding, " I think in my next edition I shall soften some passages and 
strengthen others." This served as a laughing joke between us, till 
death deprived me [of a valued old friend. The allusions in the 
poem and notes to my late friends Mr. William Boscawen the trans- 
lator of Horace, and Mr. Henry James Pye, the late poet laureate, a 
profound scholar and able critic, a good poet and excellent man, in- 
duced them to vent their anger in two spirited poems, and occasional 
strictures in the newspapers ; and even my mild friend Jerningham 
was roused into a sportive resentment by some reference to him. 

The late Mr. George Steevens, generally styled Commentator 
Steevens, from his annotations on Shakspeare, said of " The Pursuits 
of Literature," that " the poem was merely a peg to hang notes 
upon ;" but, if I may presume to judge, it is a work of high poetical 
merit. The author says in a parody on Pope, alluding to my late 
friend Mr. William Gifford, 

I sit and think I read my Pope anew. 



S18 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

Much as I revere the talents of my friend Gifford, I cannot but think 
that there is much of poetical inspiration, and not less of vigour, in 
" The Pursuits of Literature :" and I conceive that the character of the 
bard in that poem, considering its extent, may be compared to some 
of the best productions in our language. 

Mr. Mathias published a pamphlet on the subject of the poems 
alleged to have been written in the fifteenth century by a monk named 
Rowley. Mr. Mathias impartially gives all the arguments joro and con^ 
for Rowley and Chatterton, and appears to decide in favour of the 
former. It would, indeed, be the height of presumption in me to 
give an opinion on the subject, as it has employed the learning and 
sagacity of many high authorities, but yet I may venture to say some- 
thing. Chatterton had not reached his sixteenth year when he pro- 
duced the poems in question. They are numerous, and display 
great poetical merit. Chatterton had little education. He was vain 
and proud. Though he had not much employment in an attorney's 
office, yet he had some. He possessed talents, chiefly of a satirical 
kind. He always positively and solemnly avowed that the poems 
were the compositions of Rowley, and discovered by him in the 
manner he had described. He had no books that could furnish him 
with the means of imitating the language of the period in question, 
and, considering the great extent of the poems, the mere transcrip- 
tion of them would have been a work of much time and labour, even 
•without considering the time and labour that would be required to 
fabricate all the imputed imposition. I therefore presume to infer, 
that it is not within the compass of the human powers, however 
precocious, to have composed such works at the time of life at which 
Chatterton produced them. That he may have employed the lan- 
guage of a different period to fill up the chasms and give unity to the 
whole, may be admitted, and in this respect his ignorance has been 
detected. Upon the whole I propose a question, which, as far as I 
know, has not been asked before : Would Chatterton have been 
believed if, in the first instance, he had avowed himself to be the au- 
thor of Rowley's poems ? Would it have been thought that with 
his uneducated mind, his limited opportunities, and at his early time 
of life, it was possible for him to have accumulated the means neces- 
sary for so elalaorate a fabrication? It has been said that passages 
ill the Rowley poems are taken from Shakspeare, Dryden, and 
others ; but it does not appear that he had any of the works of those 
authors, nor are the passages in question of such a peculiar nature as 
not to have occurred to any poet conversant with human life and 
nature. Finally, is it consistent with the nature of mankind, that ■ a 
poet, gifted with such high powers, and conscious of possessing them, 
should obstinately decline that fame, distinction, and patronage which 
works of so much merit were calculated to excite ? 

Having mentioned my friend Mr. William Boscawen, the translator 
of Horace, and who favoured me with the work, it is but justice to 
his memory to recur to him. He was one of the commissioners of 
the victualling office, and, though so partial to the muses, he never 



MR. BOSCAWEN AND MR. W. T. FITZGERALD. 219 

{suffered them to interfere with his public duty. He was one of the 
most active contributors to that admirable institution " The Literary 
Fund," having for many years supplied an annual tribute of verses 
in support of it, which he recited himself on the anniversary cele- 
bration, as long as his health permitted. He was the nephew of 
Admiral Boscawen, a naval hero, much and deservedly distinguished 
in his day ; and though the triumph of the immortal Nelson in the 
battle of the Nile eclipsed the glory of all his professional predeces- 
sors, yet Mr. Boscawen was the first who came forward to pay 
poetical homage, in a very spirited ode, in honour of the glorious 
victor. 

The last time I saw him, I met him in the Strand, on the very 
day of the annual celebration ; but though he had senta poem for 
the occasion, he was too ill to attend the meeting, i had previously 
expressed my regret that he had translated Horace's " Art of Poetry" 
in verses of eight syllables, and he assured me at this last meeting 
that he had taken my hint, and was proceeding to invest it with the 
heroic measure ; but I believe his new version has never been pub- 
lished. He was a truly worthy man in his domestic life, as well as a 
scholar, a poet, and a gentleman. 

" The Literary Fund" naturally leads me to mention my late friend 
Mr. William Thomas Fitzgerald, who was one of the most zealous, 
strenuous, and persevering friends and supporters of that benevolent 
institution. During many years he constantly supplied his Parnassian 
tribute at the annual festivity, and recited it himself with such energy 
and effect as to render that festivity very attractive. If his health 
had continued, he would probably have supplied an annual tribute on 
every return of the celebration. At length his vigour declined, and 
he was unable to attend the meetings. He died last year [1829], 
and I venerate his memory, for a more honourable man I never knew. 
He has thought proper to mention me with partial kindness in his 
volume of poems, and I am proud of having enjoyed the friendship of 
so worthy a character. He was related to the noble family of Lein- 
ster, and was generally allowed to be an accomplished scholar. He 
enjoyed the friendship of the late Lord Dudley and Ward, one of the 
most amiable and benevolent of British noblemen, and used to pass 
much of his time at the hospitable mansion of that nobleman in town, 
and at his magnificent mansion at Himley. That estimable nobleman 
died intestate, well knowing that his son and successor would amply 
fulfil his wishes without the formality of legal distribution. Judging 
from the present noble lord's conduct towards ]\fr. Fitzgerald, it is 
obvious that the late nobleman had full reason to rely on his son's 
jfilial respect, affection, and duty. Mr. Fitzgerald would probably 
have been highly gratified to have been honoured with notice, and 
moderately remembered in the late lord's will ; but the present lord 
actually presented to him 5000Z. as the virtual legacy of his departed 
father. Nor is this all, for he gave him permission to occupy the 
house in which he himself resided at Paddington, rent-free, where 



520 HECORDS OF MY LIFE, 

Mr. Fitzgerald died, and where his widow and family doubtless 
enjoy the same benevolent privilege. 

These are imperial works, and worthy kings. 

Feelings of respect for the memory of a very worthy man, a good 
poet, and an eminent scholar, induce me to say a few words on my 
friend Mr. Henry James Pye. He also was an active and resolute 
supporter of " The Literary Fund," and often added his poetical 
contributions at the anniversary meeting, which, however, he never 
recited himself, as he had an impediment in his speech. He was 
once the proprietor of landed property to a great extent in Berkshire^ 
and was member for the county. How he lost that property I never 
heard, but understood that he was a generous and hospitable man. 
His learning was shown in his translation of " The Poetic" of Aris- 
totle, and he published many poems highly creditable to his genius and 
taste. His largest and best poem was entitled " Alfred," of which 
the founder of our laws was the hero. He also wrote a tragedy en- 
titled " Adelaide," which was represented with success at Drury-lane 
theatre. Mrs. Siddons was the heroine, and at Mr. Pye's desire I 
wrote the epilogue for that lady to speak. She said that, to show 
her respect for me, she would speak it if I wished, but, after playing 
a long part, she desired to get home as soon as possible, and hoped I 
would excuse her. The epilogue was then assigned to Miss Mellon,, 
the present Duchess of St. Alban's, who delivered it with such spirit 
as might amply atone for its poetical demerits. Mr. Pye conde- 
scended to submit to me some of his official verses as poet laureate ; 
and] never was there an author who listened with more attention to 
proposed corrections, or was more ready to adopt them. His house^ 
even to the last, when he was one of the police magistrates, was the 
resort of genius and the scene of hospitality. He published a work 
entitled " Comments on the Commentators of Shakspeare, with pre- 
liminary observations on his genius and writings, and on the labours 
of those who have endeavoured to elucidate them." He affixed a 
Greek motto to the work, and the following apt quotation from 
" The Spectator," No. 138. " One meets now and^then with per- 
sons who are extremely learned and knotty in expounding clear 
cases." This work displays great critical acumen, with much humour 
and playful ridicule. He also published " Sketches on various sub- 
jects, moral, literary, and political," a very amusing and instructive 
volume. 

Mr. Pye was a very affectionate father, a very pleasant companion,^ 
and a very warm friend. He had two daughters, the eldest of whom 
was married to an officer in the navy, and the second to my friend 
Mr. Arnold, the proprietor of the late English Opera-house, and th& 
son of my old and esteemed friend Dr. Arnold, whose musical works 
bear ample testimony to his taste, judgment, and learning, in one of the 
most gratifying sciences that contribute to the enjoyment of private 
life as well as to the amusement of the public. Mr. Arnold, the soDj. 



MR. PYE — TOM KING. 221 

I knew in his " boyish days," and at that period he held forth a prom- 
ise of the talents which have been successfully displayed in his 
dramatic productions. I would willingly bear a more ample testi- 
mony of ray respect and esteem for him, but shall avoid every thing 
that might be thought flattering to the living, and only express my 
ardent hope that he will be able to re-establish that dramatic edifice 
which he reared with so much zeal, prudence, and enterprise, and 
which he conducted with so much judgment, discretion, and liberality. 

To show the moderation and contented disposition of Mr. Pye, he 
resided, I understood, in a cottage on that ample estate of which he 
previously had been the owner. I know not whether his official 
odes as poet laureate have ever been published in a collected shape ; 
but it is proper they should be, since they do honour to his memory 
as a spirited and learned poet, as well as a loyal subject, and a worthy 
member of society. 

As this division of my miscellaneous work began with actors, I 
shall take leave to say something more of that amusing community. 

I was very intimate with Mr. King, so long a comic actor at 
Drury-lane theatre during the management of Garrick. Mr. King 
was the son of a respectable tradesman in Westminster, and went to 
the same academy in that neighbourhood as my friend Mr. DonaldsoHj^ 
before the latter was sent to Westminster school. Mr. King, whose 
friendly and social qualities procured him the general designation of 
Tom King, averse to his father's business, felt, on leaving schooL 
the impulse of theatrical ambition, and joined some strolling companies 
in various parts of this country. He made no scruple to relate the 
various vicissitudes of his roving life, and abounded with anecdotes 
of his rambling theatrical pursuits. At one time, when the company 
to which he was attached was stationed at Beaconsfield, he was un- 
provided with decent apparel, and so destitute of cash that he walked 
to London to borrow a pair of stockings of a friend. That friend 
contrived to procure a bed for him, but he was obhged to walk back 
the following day to Beaconsfield, in order to be in time " to strut his 
hour upon the stage" at night, and perhaps to perform two or three 
characters. He said that his share of the profits was three shillings 
and some ends of candle. 

Before I became acquainted with King, Mr. Donaldson told me, if 
ever I should happen to know him, to ask him to relate two stories 
which he mentioned to me. I did not forget the hint, and whenj 
many years after, I became acquainted with him, I circuitously en- 
deavoured to draw his attention to the matter ; " I see what you are 
at," said King, " but you need not take any trouble on the occasion^ 
for I will tell the stories immediately." He then, with as much readi- 
ness as if he was telling an occurrence of the passing day, related 
the stories in question with great humour and powers of niimicry. 

Mr. King unfortunat-ely had a strong propensity to gaming, which 
towards the decline of Hfe made him feel the " res angusta domi:* 
Upon one occasion it is said that he lost about TOOOZ., and that he 
hurried home, went into his bedchamber, fell on his knees, and asked 



52^ HECORDS OF MY LIFE, 

his wife, who was in bed, for a prayer-book or a bible. Mrs. King 
■was alarmed, and apprehended that he had been suddenly seized 
with insanity. Whether or not he obtained either of the books he 
desired, I know not, but he continued on his knees, and fervently 
vowed that he never would visit a gaming-house again. Unhappily, 
the fascinating vice again tempted him, and at length deprived him of 
the means of renewing his chance of regaining the favour of fortune- 
About the year 1782, he had a respectable house in Great Queen- 
street, Lincoln's-Inn Fields, and another near Mr. Garrick's seat at 
Hampton ; and I believe about that period Mr. and Mrs. Siddons 
and John Kemble shared their Christmas holidays with him at the 
latter place. He was then easy in his circumstances, having a large 
salary, and usually a productive annual benefit. His society was 
generally courted, as he abounded in whimsical anecdotes, which he 
related with great spirit and humour ; he was a very entertaining 
companion. 

He had some time protected Miss Baker, an admired dancer, and 
having unfortunately broken his leg, her attention to him demon- 
strated such sincere affection, that he married her on his recovery. 
She proved an amiable and affectionate wife, and submitted with 
patience to the decline of his fortunes, though it was the result of his 
unhappy devotion to the gaming-table. 

As an actor, he represented the characters with a reference to 
human nature, with which he was well acquainted ; and he never 
copied his predecessors, as many actors, both tragic and comic, have 
often done. He was chiefly excellent in representing the bucks and 
bloods of the time, a noxious race of animals that are now happily 
extinct, owing to the strictness of police regulations. We may judge 
of the manners of the times, even within the memory of our veteran 
contemporaries, when we find that a learned physician, who mixed 
•with the world, made the hero of his comedy mount a ladder, and 
enter into a lady's chamber at midnight. If any person were now 
lo adopt such conduct in private life, he would soon probably find 
Sir Richard Birnie a very rigid critic, and a strict observant of 
" time, place, and action." That the comedy in question experienced 
some opposition at first, is evident from the following epigram, which 
was thrown into the author's carriage while he was attending a pa- 
tient, and which found its way into the newspapers : 

TO DOCTOR HOADLEY, M.D. 

Dear doctor, since your comic muse don't please, 
Turn to your tragic, and write recipes.* 

Towards the decline of hfe, being embarrassed, and finding it diffi- 
cult to procure arrears of salary from Mr. Sheridan, King quitted 
Drury-lane theatre, placarded that gentleman in the public streets, 

* Quin, in his usual sarcastic manner, being an enemy to pantomimic comedies, 
said that "The Suspicious Husband" should be named "The Hat and the Ladder," 
ailudin? to two incidents in the niece. 



DR. HOADLEY — MRS. INCHBALD. S23 

and was engaged by Mr. Harris, the chief proprietor of Covent 
Garden theatre ; but he performed a very few nights, as Mr. Lewis, 
who was then stage manager, manifested some discontent, conceiving 
that some of his own characters might be assigned to King. This 
dissatisfaction Mr. Lewis communicated to me, and afterward to 
Mr. Harris, who became alarmed lest he should lose so excellent an 
actor ; and King, having received amicable overtures from Mr. Sheri- 
dan, resumed his station at Old Drury, and Mr. Lewis was easily 
reconciled to his old manager. 
Churchill says of King — 

'Mongst Drury 's sons he comes and shines in brass. 

It is probable that the satirical poet here intended a pun, and did not 
intend to confine his meaning to the character in the comedy of 
" The Confederacy," but to Kuig's general excellence in brazen 
characters ; though, indeed, King's 'peculiar merit in that character 
was unique, and hardly admitted of a parallel. On the death of poor 
Tom King, his widow was literally obliged to live in a garret in Tot- 
tenham-court-road, which she made a little paradise, and was chiefly 
supported by the liberal contributions of some old friends till her 
death. 



CHAPTER XXXn. 

Mus. Inchbald. I became acquainted with this lady in the year 
1782, and an uninterrupted friendship existed between us till her 
death. When I first knew her, she was a very fine woman, and 
although conscious of the beauty of her person, she never indulged 
herself in any expenses for the purpose of making it appear to more 
advantage. She was at this time an actress at Covent Garden 
theatre ; but, though she always displayed good sense, and a just 
conception of the characters which she performed, yet she never rose 
to any height of professional reputation. She had a slight impedi- 
ment in her speech in ordinary conversation, but it never appeared 
when she was performing on the stage. 

It is not necessary to enter into her private life, as she has herself 
given a brief account of it. It is sufficient to say, that when she was 
about seventeen years of age, she left the house of her father, a 
farmer in Norfolk or Suffolk, and being strongly imbued with theatri- 
cal ambition, she applied to Mr. Griffith, manager of the Norwich 
company, and in time became connected wifh many provincial 
theatres in England and Scotland. She married Mr. Inchbald, an 
actor and a miniature-painter, a man much older than herself, whose 
character was highly respected. 



RECORDS OF MY LII^. 

Mr. Inchbald had, I believe, been previously married, and for a 
season or two had an engagement at Drury-lane theatre, under the 
management of Garrick, and thought of that actor's merit, as all men 
of taste, learning, and judgment did, with the highest admiration. 
Mrs. Inchbald told me, that in the earlier part of her life she was 
very irritable in her temper, but time, reflection, and the vicissitudes 
of fortune had softened and subdued her natural disposition. She 
mentioned one particular instance of the warmth of her temper 
when she and her husband were in a boarding-house at Canterbury j, 
while they were both engaged in the theatre of that city. Mr. Inch- 
bald had been employed all the morning in copying a miniature 
portrait of Garrick. At length dinner was announced by the mistress 
of the house, and Mrs. Inchbald desired her husband to attend it. 
He signified that he would be ready in a minute or two, but con- 
tinued to touch his picture. Mrs. Inchbald then urged him to attend 
at the table below, but finding he still lingered over the portrait, she 
suddenly seized it, and in a moment obliterated all his morning's 
work. She expressed her regret at this action, not only as it was an 
act of reprehensible violence, but as it was a painful outrage on the 
feelings of a worthy man. 

I was in the habit of visiting her every Sunday morning for many 
years, first when she had apartments in Russell-street, Covent Gar- 
den ; next in Leicester-square, and afterward in Hart-street, near 
the theatre. She occupied the second floor in all these apartments. 
The first was in the house which had been called Button's. Mrs. 
Inchbald was then engaged by the elder Colman, at the Haymarket 
theatre, where she produced her first dramatic piece, entitled " I'll 
tell ye what," which was so well acted, and so favourably received, 
that she was induced to relinquish the stage, and devote herself to 
dramatic and other literary pursuits. 

One incident which occurred during her engagement at Covent 
Garden theatre deserves recording. It is well known that the late 
Mr. Harris, then the chief proprietor of that theatre, was a very gal- 
lant man, and did not find the virtue of several of his fair performers 
impregnable. At his desire, Mrs. Inchbald attended him one morn- 
ing at his house at Knightsbridge, to consult on one of her plays which 
was soon to be represented. When the consultation was ended, Mr. 
Harris, who was a handsome man, and had found so little difficulty 
among the theatrical sisterhood under his government, thought that 
he might be equally successful in an attack on Mrs. Inchbald ; but^ 
instead of regular approaches, he attempted to take the fort by storm^ 
and Mrs. Inchbald found no resource but in seizing him by his hair, 
which she pulled with such violence that she forced him to desist. 
She then rushed out of the house, and proceeded in haste, and under 
great agitation, to the green-room of the theatre, wJiere the company 
were then rehearsing. She entered the room with so wild an air, 
and with such evident emotion, that all present were alarmed. She 
hastily related what had happened as far as her impediment would 
permit her, and concluded with the following exclamation : " Oh ! if 
he had wo-wo-worn a wig, I had been ru-ruined." 



MRS. INCHBALD. , 225 

Though scandal was formerly not uncommon among the theatrical 
community, I never heard the least impeachment on her character, 
iior do I believe she ever gave occasion for the slightest insinuations. 
She was modest in the estimation of her literary productions, and 
often expressed surprise at their success ; yet she exulted in that suc- 
cess not merely from pecuniary advantages, which were then not the 
least important, but because it raised her name into public notice and 
distinction. She carefully noticed the amount of the prices at which 
her works were respectively sold, and the last time she mentioned 
the subject to me she said, with no slight gratification, that they now, 
altogether, sold for not less than twenty pounds. 

When she finally quitted the stage, the loss of salary induced her 
to contract her expenses, and she actually occupied an attic at a mil- 
liner's in the Strand. I then only saw her when she came down to 
me in the shop, or when she called on me at the Sun office in the 
same street. Her next residence was at a public-house in St. 
George's-row, on the Uxbridge Road. The name of the house was 
the Hanover Arms, which she told me she thought was a pretty title. 
There was a private door to the house. She was delighted with the 
view over Hyde Park, but as new plantations intercepted her pros- 
pect, she removed to a respectable lodging and boarding-house in 
that fine row of houses called Earl's Court, which fronts Holland 
House on the Hammersmith Road. She afterward removed to a con- 
tiguous row of houses styled Leonard's Place, and finally settled at a 
large and respectable mansion called Kensington House, where she 
lodged and boarded, and died. 

Though of the Roman Catholic persuasion, she was buried accord- 
ing to the ceremonies of the Church of England, but was so much 
respected that two Roman Catholic priests attended the funeral. 
She was buried in Kensington Church-yard, and her grave adjoins 
that of a son of the late right honourable George Canning. 

As Mrs. Inchbald made so conspicuous a figure in her time, and 
as her works are likely to exist as long as the drama and literature 
of the country, I am persuaded that 1 shall gratify my readers in gen- 
eral by some extracts from her many letters to me in the course of a 
long and intimate friendship, which nothing tended to disturb, and 
from which I derived many of the most agreeable years of my life. 
These extracts will illustrate and do honour to her character, partic- 
ularly when it is known that, though she was so severely economical, 
denying herself most of the ordinary comforts of Hfe, and incurring the 
imputation of avarice, and even of insanity, on account of her ascetic 
privations, yet her great object was to support two sisters, to assist an 
unprosperous nephew, and to secure a provision for them in case of 
her decease. 

As I cannot but be proud of the friendship of so respectable and 
enlightened a character, I might justly be charged with affected mod- 
esty if I were not to insert the following inscription, which she sent 
to me in her own handwriting, on the titlepage of her comedy enti- 
tled " To Marry or not to Marry." 



226 RECORDS OB MY LIFE. 

"to JOHN TAYLOR, ESQ. 

" From the author, who openly declares that it is much easier for 
her to write a play than to express the gratitude slie feels for the various, 
the numerous obligations which she has received from him." 

When she had nearly finished her play entitled " Lovers' Vo¥/s," 
she applied to me to write some doggerel rhymes for the character 
which she has denominated " The Rhyming Butler," alleging that she 
never could write poetry, or even rhymes. I readily consented, of 
course, but found some difficulty in adapting the two compositions 
which were to be delivered by the butler, to his supposed vanity 
and folly, with, however, somewhat of a.ludicrous humour in his char- 
acter. The lines pleased her, and were adopted. They were very 
successful with the public, chiefly owing to the admirable manner in 
which they were recited by that excellent comic actor, Mr. Muiiden. 

The late Mr. George Hardinge, the barrister, a nephew of the 
great Lord Camden, and one of the Welsh judges, thought so favour- 
ably of these lines, that he wrote a commendatory letter to me on the 
subject, though I had not the least acquaintance with him. I returned 
his civility, of course, and once afterward passed him in the street, 
but did not think proper to make myself known. I had another letter 
from him, adverting to a tract of playful severity, which he entitled 
"The Essence of Mclone," upon what he deemed the inconsistencies 
of the learned commentator in his "Life of Dryden." I was never 
introduced to him, but was to his wife, after their separation, and have 
seldom seen a more amiable and intelligent lady. She was also a very 
handsome, and what is generally styled a fine woman. It is truly 
lamentable that such a woman should not have rendered the married 
state a happy one, particularly as her husband always spoke of her in 
the highest terms, and professed the strongest esteem and admiration 
of her person and character. 

The play of " Lovers' Vows" was very successful, and the fair au- 
thoress received for it 500Z. from the manager. Having written the 
prologue to the play, as well as the lines for the Rhyming Butler, I 
received a letter from her, requesting that I would call on her, as she 
had something particular to say. Always ready and happy to serve 
her, I went without delay, but when L arrived, instead of speaking to 
me, she put a paper into my hand, and when I asked her what it con- 
tained, she said twenty guineas ; observing that, as the Rhyming But- 
ler was a main feature in her play, and as she could not have pro- 
vided the versification for him, she thought that she ought not to derive 
so much pecuniary advantage from the play v/ithout my sharing the 
profits. It was in vain I assured her that I should be ashamed of re- 
ceiving any recompense for such mere nonsense ; she insisted on my 
taking the money, and I was obliged to open the window and threaten 
to throw it into the street for the first lucky passenger, if she refused 
to take it back. This menace, which of course for her sake I should 
not have carried into effect, induced her to comply, and the next day 
I received the following letter : 



MRS. INCDBALD. 227 

"to JOHN TAYLOR, ESQ. 

" Out of the twenty guineas that you threw at my head, I am resolved 
to buy half a dozen sixteenths of the lottery. From my own luck I 
shall get nothing, I am certain ; therefore I request that you will to-mor- 
row, about three in the afternoon (the time of drawing ends, and they 
will answer for those undrawn), call and go with me — afterward, take 
three sixteenths and the number of my three, and agree to share in 
the prizes, which, managed thus, I am certain will be valuable. If yon 
refuse this trivial partnership, there shall be a total end of all inter- 
course between us for ever. I shall buy the tickets without you. 
My money will go equally if I have blanks, and if I am successful I 
shall impute the luck to you. Come, and let me despise the gains by 
* Lovers' Vows,' in comparison with our gains by the lottery.* 

"E. Ikciibald." 

Mrs. Inchbald v/as censured and ridiculed by many of her former 
theatrical connexions, and even by some of her private friends, for 
her thrifty habits, which were imputed to her extreme love of money, 
as she had derived much profit from her plays and other productions. 
Having a sincere friendship for her, I told her in a letter what I had 
heard, assuring her I was persuaded the charge was unjust, and only 
ventured to tell her of it in order that, if there was any part of her 
conduct which might expose her to such a charge, she might do jus- 
tice to herself, as I knew she generally practised self-denial to contri- 
bute to the assistance of some relations. The follov/ing is her answer : 

"My dear Sir, 

" I read your letter with gratitude, because I have had so many proofs 
of your friendship for me, that I do not once doubt of your kind inten- 
tions. 

" You have taken the best method possible on such an occasion, not 
to hurt my spirits ; for had you suspected me to be insane, or even 
nervous, you would have mentioned the subject with more caution ^ 
and by so doing might have given me alarm. 

"That the world should say I have lost my senses, I can readily for- 
give, when I recollect that a few years ago it said the same of Mrs» 
Siddons. 

" 1 am now fjfty-two years old, and yet if I were to dress, paint, and 
visit, no one would call my understanding in question ; or if I v/ere to 
beg from all my acquaintance a guinea or two, as subscription for a 
foolish book, no one would accuse me of avarice. But because I 
choose that retirement suitable to my years, and think it my duty, to 
support two sisters instead of one servant, I am accused of madness. 
I might plunge in debt, be confined in prison, a pensioner on ' The 
Literary Fund,' or be gay as a girl of eighteen, and yet be considered 

* As the reader may be desirous of knowing the result of tiie lottery adventure, it 
is proper to state that fortune so far favoured us that we derived about threepence 
each from this enterprising adventure. 



^28 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

as perfectly in my senses ; but because I choose to live in independ- 
ence, affluence to me, with a mind serene and prospects unclouded, 
I am supposed to be mad. In making use of the word affluence, I do. 
not mean to exclude some inconveniences annexed, but this is the case 
in every state. I wish for more suitable lodgings, but I am unfortu- 
nately averse to a street, after living so long in a square ; but with all 
my labour to find one, I cannot fix on a spot such as I wish to make 
my residence for life, and till I do, and am confined to London, the 
beautiful view from my present apartment of the Surrey hills and the 
Thames invites me to remain here, for I believe that there is neither 
such fine air nor so fine a prospect in all the town. I am, besides, 
near my sisters here ; and the time when they are not with me is so 
wholly engrossed in writing that I want leisure for the convenience of 
walking out. Retirement in the country would, perhaps, have been 
more advisable than in London, but my sisters did not like to accom- 
pany me, and I did not like to leave them behind. There is, besides, 
something animating in the reflection that I am in London, though 
partaking of none of its festivities. 

" In the midst of the serenity I have been boasting, I own that I have 
one sorrow that weighs heavy upon me. Much as it is supposed that 
I value money, I would gladly give up all I am at present earning, and 
something added to it, that I had never engaged in those unwieldy 
prefaces. I have had my memoirs, in four volumes, for years lying 
by me. A large sum has been offered for them, yet, though I am 
charged with loving money, I never hesitated when I conceived that 
my reputation was in the balance. I accepted the offer made to me 
to write these things as far the less evil of the two, indeed as no evil ; 
but now I fear that I should not have encountered more odium had I 
published my Hfe ; and yet a great deal of difficulty might have been 
avoided in arranging the former for publication to my advantage, by a 
proper assortment of subjects. As it is, I must submit, for I am bound 
in honour to obey. 

" E. Inchbald." 

It may be thought that I was officious in giving occasion for the 
foregoing letter, but, as I have said, hearing her character arraigned 
for avarice and meanness among the theatrical community, I deemed 
it right to adopt an intrepid sincerity, such as friendship demanded. I 
remember that my friend Mr. Richardson, whom I have before men- 
tioned, soon after we became acquainted, on his leaving St. John's 
College, Cambridge, exacted a promise from me that I would tell 
him whatever I might hear to his disadvantage, that he might reform 
if the charge was just, or defend himself if false. This rule I have 
always observed with those dear to me. 

Mrs. Inchbald lived at this time on the south side of the Strand, 
opposite to the New Church, and her apartment was an attic ; and 
thus did she deny herself many of the comforts of life from motives 
ofaffection to relations who required pecuniary assistance. Such a 
letter does honour to her feelings, and I am proud of having tempted 



MRS. INCHEALD. 229 

her to wi:ite it. The prefaces which she mentions were to accompany 
a new edition of " The British Drama," and they prove her pure taste 
and sound judgment in her critical remarks on the respective pro- 
ductions. Her novels of " A Simple Story" and " Nature and Art," 
manifest a full knowledge of the depth of the human heart, and of the 
changes of disposition to which it is so frequently subjected by the 
vicissitudes of fortune. These novels will live like those of Smollett 
and Fielding, though of a very different description, and with respect 
to profound knowledge and moral tendency, more in analogy with the 
works of Richardson. . What are the boasted novels of the present, 
even the most celebrated, compared with the four greater WTiters 
above mentioned ? — mere phantoms of an hour. 

Besides her well-known plays and farces, Mrs. Inchbald wrote a 
tragedy in prose onthe French revolution, and the fate of the un- 
fortunate Louis XVI. It was printed, but never published. She sent 
a copy of it to me, with the following note, which I insert, because I 
cannot but be proud that such a woman should have paid such a com- 
pliment to my opinion : — " I am undetermined whether to publish this 
play or not— do, dear creature, give me your opinion. I will send 
for an answer to-morrow, or if you call here, leave a note if I am 
from home." 

As far as I can recollect, I advised her to suppress it. With respect 
to her memoirs, the following is authentic and ludicrous. The manu- 
script was submitted to the judgment of my friend Mr. Alexander 
Chalmers, and a more liberal and judicious critic could not have been, 
found. As the work consisted chiefly of that portion of her life 
which passed in provincial theatrical companies, before she came to 
London, and nothing of what occurred after she was engaged at a 
London theatre, when her mind was expanded, and her knowledge 
augmented by an intercourse with literary and other enlightened con- 
nexions, Mr. Chalmers advised her to suppress it, and she submitted 
to his opinion, though she was then in narrow circumstances. She 
did not, however, destroy the manuscript. A popular publisher of 
that time hearing of the work, waited on her, and offered one hundred 
pounds for it. She referred him to Mr. Chalmers, who had decided 
on its merits. The publisher hastened to Mr. Chalmers, and learning 
from that gentleman that he disapproved of the publication, observed 
that, as Mr. Chalmers was a grave character, the work might savour 
too much of youthful levity, and be of too piquant a nature for him to 
relish, evidently conceiving that the work was of a description similar 
to those of Constantia Phillips, Mrs. Bellamy, Mrs. Baddely, &c. &c. 
" Oh !" said Mr. Chalmers, " if you imagine it contains any thing that 
the chastest eye ought not to peruse, you are grossly mistaken.'* 
Hearing these words, the publisher started from his chair, seized his 
hat, left the room abruptly, and hurried to Mrs. Inchbald, telling her 
that he declined purchasing the work. Yet this man has conle for- 
ward as a moral and political reformer, and, perhaps, is one of the 
-Society for the Suppression of Vice and Irreligion. 

It may appear strange, that, as Mrs. Inchbald was a young and 

L 



230 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

very fine woman when her husband died, she never married again. 
She had certainly several suitors, and I have reason to believe that 
the late Mr. John Kemble was among them ; and it is always sur- 
prising to me that she rejected him, as I know she had the highest 
respect and esteem for him, insomuch that she never mentioned him 
without applying to him the following line of the poet — 

The man for wisdom's various arts renown'd. 

When T asked her why she had not married again, her answer- 
was, " That for wedlock, friendship was too familiar, and love too pre- 
carious." 



CHAPTER XXXIII. 

Mrs. Abington. This actress affords an extraordinary instance 
of the effect of industry, perseverance, and spirit. Her origin was 
of the lov/est kind. She lived with her father in Vinegar Yard, 
Drury-lane. Whether he was ever in any business, or how he sup- 
ported himself with his daughter, afterward Mrs. Abington, till she 
reached the age of about twelve, is not known, but at that period she 
was able to maintain herself and him, which she did in a very decent 
manner. Her maiden name was Barton, as mentioned in many 
theatrical annals. 

The late Arthur Murphy, whose learning and talents, particularly 
as a dramatic writer, have raised him far above any tribute of respect 
that I could offer to his memory, told me that he had seen her when 
she was about the age above-mentioned, and that she then supported 
herself and her father by her recitations at the Bedford and Shak- 
speare taverns, under the piazzas in Covent Garden. Her custom 
"was, to desire the waiter to inform any private company in their rooms 
that she would deliver passages from Shakspeare and other writers 
for a small reward. When the company consented, she stepped upon 
the table and delivered the several compositions. Every thing relative 
to the stage was interesting to Mr. Murphy, and that feeling induced 
him to pay particular attention to this theatrical girl, which fixed her 
person on his memory. As she increased in age and practice, this 
itinerant profession became less attractive as a novelty, and she was 
then driven to the necessity of adopting more profligate and degrading 
means of support; and this degrading profession, which it is not 
necessary to designate more particularly, she was in the habit of pur- 
suing for some years before she happily found her way to the theatri- 
cal boards. 

The manner in which Mr. Murphy afterward saw her in her de- 
graded state was as follows : A party of his friends, consisting of 



MRS. ABINGTON. 231 

four, had agreed to take an excursion to Richmond, in Surrey, and to 
pass the day there. The gentlemen were to meet at the Turk's 
Head Coffee-house, opposite Catharine-street in the Strand. Mr. 
Murphy and two of the friends, whose names I have forgotten, were 
punctual to the appointment, but they waited for the fourth till their 
patience was nearly exhausted. At length Mr. Murphy said he knew 
where to find the fouilh gentleman, and would go in pursuit of him. 
He immediately proceeded to a notorious house under the piazza in 
Covent Garden, and there found him. This person was a Mr. Tracy, 
a gentleman of fortune, well known at that tim.e under the name of 
Beau Tracy, on account of the gayety and splendour of his attire. 
Finding that Tracy was in the house, Mr. Murphy proceeded at once 
to his bedroom, where he found the beau under the hands of his 
hairdresser, and not half attired. Mr. Murphy waited very patiently 
till the grand business of the toilet was concluded. While he waited, 
he thought he saw the curtains of the bed move, as if there were a 
person within. Mr. Murphy asked the beau if he had not a com- 
panion. Tracy, a careless rake, answered in the affirmative, and told 
him to go and chat with her, as he would find her a lively wench. 
Murphy, therefore, drew one of the curtains aside, and entered into 
conversation with a fair votaress of Venus, whom he immediately 
recognised as the girl who had entertained him and his friends some 
years before at the taverns. She did not seeta abashed at being seen 
by a stranger, but conversed with him with ease, spirit, and humour. 
The next time he saw her, after the progress of years, was in the 
station of the first-rate comic actress at the metropolitan theatres, as 
Mrs. Abington. Having acquired a high reputation on the London 
boards, she was offered an engagement at the Cork theatre, which 
she accepted, and was accompanied on her journey by Mr. Needham, 
whom I have mentioned before. She had not then been so long rescued 
from the degraded life which she had previously led, as to acquire 
that sense of decorum and delicacy which was necessary to procure 
her a reception in society where reputation was regarded ; and there- 
fore she had no scruple to appear with Mr. Needham upon the most 
intimate and familiar footing. 

The circumstance of her connexion with Mr. Needham, as well as 
her taste for dress, were so well known, that the milliners in the city 
of Cork put the following label in their shop windows, " Abington 
caps may be had here for those that Need!emP How long Needham, 
a gay and dissipated man, remained with her at Cork, is not known^ 
but when she accepted an engagement afterward at Dublin, she 
thought it necessary to assume a more precise deportment, and even 
to affect in public an extraordinary degree of purity. But this mask 
was so entirely thrown off among some of the Irish noblemen, and 
other characters well known for wealth and liberality, that as most of 
them were acquainted with each other, on comparing notes, they 
found that each had been induced by her to think himself the only 
person distinguished by her partiality ; so that one and all gave her 
such a designation, connected with her baptismal name of Fan^ a^ 

L.2 



233 RECORDS OF JIY LIFE. 

rendered all her subsequent pretensions to virtue fruitless, and induced 
her to return to London, where she was more cautious in her con- 
cessions and more guarded in her general conduct. 

At length, such was Murphy's high opinion of her comic powers, 
that he not only assigned to her the chief parts in his comedies, but 
dedicated his play of " The Way to keep Him" to her, chiefly on 
account of the admirable manner in which she had performed the 
character of the Widow Belmour. From motives of humanity as 
well as delicacy, I should forbear to mention the preceding circum- 
stances of her life, if they did not afford a striking evidence that 
people, by industry, fortitude, and perseverance, may not only rise 
from obscurity, but from a more degrading situation. Low, poor, 
and vulgar as she had been in her early days, she was always anxious 
to acquire education and knowledge ; and though the theatrical pro- 
fession might be thought to engross all her time and attention, she 
contrived to attain the French language, which she not only read, but 
spoke with facility. 

Whatever relations she might have had, though I only heard of 
her father, have doubtless long since been dead, and most of her 
private friends also ; so that I have the stronger reason to hold forth 
a lesson to those on whose birth fortune does not smile, to encourage 
them to exert their powders in order to improve their condition. As 
a proof how high she must have risen on the stage, and in public 
opinion. Sir Joshua Reynolds painted a whole-length portrait of her ; 
and another in kit-cat size, gratuitously, as a tribute to her professional 
excellence, from both of which engravings have been made ; and she 
was also the subject of many other prints. 

As an actress, Mrs. Abington was distinguished for spirit and 
humour, rather than for high-breeding and elegance. She excelled 
in the delivery of sarcastic humour, to which the shrewdness of her 
mind and the tartness of her tone gave the most effective piquancy. 
Her manners were not sufficiently graceful and well-bred for Con- 
greve's "Millimont" altogether, but in those passages where she 
taunts Marwood, there was a stinging severity in her delivery that 
would have fully satisfied the author. Beatrice has more wit and 
pertness than good-breeding, and in that part she was excellent ; and 
also in Estifania, another character that demands vivacity and humour, 
not elegance. She was the first Lady Teazle, and that character 
was admirably suited to her talents. It was understood that she 
was well acquainted with the French authors, and could converse in 
Italian. She was received in many good families as an admired 
companion. When or why she married, I know not. Her husband, 
I understood, was a musician. They had been separated many 
years, and it was reported that she allowed him an annuity not to 
molest her. 

I once saw Mr. Abington at a dinner which my late friend Dr. 
Arnold gave at Parsloe's, in St. James's-street ; but as the company 
was numerous, I could not get near enough to hear what he said. 
He seemed to be a smart-looking little rtian, lively in his conversation^ 



MRS. ABINCTON. 233 

and apparently the object of attention to those who were near him. 
There was a report of his death, and she sent her and my old friend, 
Mr. Cooke, the barrister, to me, to ascertain the fact, but I could not 
give him any information on the subject; it is probable that she 
survived him. 

I met Mrs. Abington one evening at Mrs. Conway's in Stratford 
Place, where she was treated with much respect by the company ; 
but she chiefly confined her conversation to General Paoli, who 
seemed to be much gratified by her spirit and intelligence. I after- 
ward dined in company with her at the house of Mrs. Jordan, the 
celebrated actress, in Cadogan Place. Mrs. Abington displayed 
great spirit, and enlivened the company with many interesting 
anecdotes of theatrical history, as well as of fashionable life, with 
which she had been intimately connected during the zenith of her 
fame ; but the chief part of her conversation related to Mr. Garrick, 
of whom she seemed never likely to be tired of talking. She spoke 
of his theatrical merits with enthusiasm. In speaking of the powerful 
effect of Ijis eyes, she said that whatever expression they assumed, 
they seemed to operate by fascination ; and that in all her intercourse 
with the world she never beheld eyes that had so much expression, 
brilliancy, and force. She finally observed that, if she might presume 
to give an opinion, she would say Shakspeare was made for Garrick, 
and Garrick for Shakspeare. 

Miss Fitzclarence was of this party, and a more unaffected, amiable, 
and agreeable young lady I never met. She was accompanied by 
Mrs. Cockle, who was some time her governess. Mrs. Cockle has 
published several poems, and some tracts on education, which are 
highly creditable to her talents and character. 

It is bare justice to add, that our lively hostess, Mrs. Jordan, never 
appeared to more advantage on the stage, with all her original talents, 
than when she did the honours of her hospitable board, and exerted 
herself to gratify her guests with her sprightliness and good-humour. 
As she found in me a sincere friend, not a flatterer, she favoured me 
■with her confidence, and intrusted me with the letters which she had 
received from a high character, after an unexpected separation^ 
in order to convince me that nothing 'in her own* conduct had 
occasioned that separation. 

To return to Mrs. Abington. As she had no powerful comic rival 
before Miss Farren, the late Countess of Derby, rose into popular 
favour, she might have acquired a considerable fortune ; '.but according 
to report, she was ambitious of associating with persons of quality, 
and became acquainted with some old ladies of fashion, with whom 
she was tempted to play high at cards, and as they were as skilful in 
acting the parts of gamesters, as she was in any of the characters 
■which she personated on the stage, she is said to have suffered 
severely by their superior dexterity. I remember her keeping a very 
elegant carriage, and living in a large mansion in Clarges-street ; 
but as she advanced in life, she became less fit for those characters in 



S34 RE conns ov my life. 

which she had chiefly distinguished her talents, and, of course, was 
less likely to secure an engagement with the theatrical managers.* 

I regret to say, that the last time I saw her on the stage, 1 thought 
I perceived a great falling off in her theatrical powers, and a poor 
substitution of a kind of vulgar humour and grimace for her former 
vivacity and genius. In the meridian of her days she was admired 
for her taste in dress, but I learned from some good female judges, 
that she declined in that respect also, and that a gaudy parade ap- 
peared instead of her former elegance of attire. The last time I 
saw her, after she left the stage, was at the house of her old friend 
Mr. Nealson, who was stock-broker to the banking-house of Messrs. 
Coutts and Co. and also to that of Snow and Co. near Temple Bar. 
Mr. Nealson was alarmingly ill, and attended by Dr. Blaine. I had 
called to inquire hov/ he was, for he was too ill to admit visiters ; and 
as I was departing I met Mrs. Abington in the passage, who came 
for the same purpose. She seemed to be under the influence of 
extraordinary prudery, her reign of gallantry having long passed by, 
and declined telling her name to the servant, but desired the master 
might be merely told that the gentlewoman had called to inquire after 
his health. As I knew the high regard that Nealson had for her, I 
pressed her to leave her name, as I was sure that such an attention 
on her part would sooth his sufferings, and perhaps promote his 
recovery. She was inflexible, and watched me lest I should disclose 
her name. I hastily returned to the servant, as if to deliver another 
message, and whispered " Mrs. Abington." " I know it, sir," said 
the woman, and I parted with Mrs. Abington at the door. 

It would hardly have been in the power of anybody who had 
known her in her better days, to recognise her person at that time. 
She had on a common red cloak, and her general attire seemed to 
indicate the wife of an inferior tradesman, and the whole of her 
demeanour was such as might be expected from a woman of that 
rank. It is with pleasure I add, that she must have been in easy 
circumstances on her retirement from the stage, as she lived in Pall 
Mall, where I once visited her previous to my meeting her at the 
house of Mr. Nealson, who soon after died, leaving her and my old 
friend Mr. Cooke, the barrister, 100/. each, and 50X to each of the 
theatrical funds. 

Indeed it was well known that she had an income from a deceased 
nobleman, once eminent in the political world, which terminated at 

* As a proof that she began to feel her attraction, if not her faculties, were 
•declining, she was induced to perform the part of Scrub, on one of her benefit 
nights. I was present, and remember nothing in her performance that might not 
have been expected from an actor of much inferior abiUties. As a proof too that 
Hke many of her profession, she thought herself capable "of characters not within 
the scope of her powers, I once saw her play Ophelia to Mr. Garrick's Hamlet ; and. 
to use a simile of my old friend Dr. Mousey, she appeared " like a mackerel on a 
gravel-walk." My late friend Mr. Sayers published a whole-length etching of her 
in Scrub, which was very like her. He also published one of Miss Farren, in the 
heroine of Mr. Pratt's tragedy, "The Fair Circassian," considering her as unfit for 
.tragic characters, however excellent in comic parts or those of domestic tenderness. 



MISS FARREN — MR. IIOLMAN. 2S5 

bis death. His immediate successor annulled it, but as he died soon 
after, the next successor generously restored it, from a regard to the 
memory of his father. I never heard that the theatrical fraternity 
attended the funeral of Mrs. Abington, as is usual on the death of 
even the lower order of their community, male and female ; neither 
do I know when she died, or v/here she was buried. 

Miss Farren. With this actress I never had the pleasure of being 
personally acquainted, but I met her one morning with Lord Derby 
at the house of the late Mr. Kemble. She seemed to be lively and 
intelligent, with less affectation than might reasonably be expected. in 
a fine lady who had a prospect of elevated rank. According to 
report, she was the daughter of a military officer, who died when 
she was young, and left his widow in distress. Miss Farren was first 
known as connected with a theatre at Birmingham, where Mr. 
Younger, a respectable actor, was the manager. She was then very 
young, and only employed in the most trifling parts ; and I heard 
from a lady who was engaged in the same company, that Miss Farren 
had so small a salar}^ that she had a weekly stipend from four of the 
female performers for carrying to the theatre what is styled their 
properties, which means articles of dress, ornaments, &c. &c. She 
conducted herself with great propriety, and gradually improved in 
the opinion of the manager, who at length procured her an engage- 
ment at the Haymarket theatre, under the management of the elder 
Mr. Colman. 

It would be unbecoming in me to enter into a criticism on her 
talents, as they are so well known, and were so justly admired by the 
public. She was lively and elegant, and only wanted the satirical 
point and spirit of Mrs. Abington, which, after all, is perhaps a vulgar 
quality; but she had what Mrs. Abington never possessed, and that 
was pathos. The character which she performed in " The Chapter 
of Accidents" may be cited, as well as many others, to show that in 
parts of genuine sensibility she could make a pow^erful appeal to the 
sympathy of the audience. At length, like Miss Fenton, the first 
Polly in " The Beggar's Opera," she was destined to assume a high 
rank, which by all accounts she supported as if she had been " to the 
manner born," and was esteemed as one of the chief ornaments in 
the circle of nobility. 



CHAPTER XXXIV. 

Mr. Holman. This gentleman was an intimate friend of mine, 
till I happened to disapprove of the leading part which he took in 
opposition to the manager and chief proprietor of Covent Garden 
theatre. Eight of the chief performers entered into a compact, 
and were styled " The Glorious Eight" by those actors who approved 



236 RECORDS or my life. 

of the combination. I wrote to Mr. Holman on the subject, remind- 
ing him that, in a former difference with the same proprietor, on his 
restoration to the theatre, he had emphatically assured me that he 
never would quarrel with a London manager again. He sent me a 
very friendly answer, promising to call on me, and to justify his con- 
duct on the occasion in question to my satisfaction. I waited with 
some concern for his visit, but he did not call ; and while I was talk- 
ing in the street one morning with Mr. Charles Kemble, he passed uSy, 
saluted Mr. Kemble, and took no notice of me. 

As all the other performers concerned in the combination, in turn^, 
to use a modern phrase, "cut me" in the same manner, I began to be 
irritated, particularly as Mr. Harris, the manager, had at first re- 
quested that I would take up his cause, and signified that I should be 
"well rewarded for my trouble. 1 positively refused to have any 
concern in the affair, alleging that, though I disapproved of the con- 
duct of the parties, yet as I was personally acquainted with them alL> 
and was intimate with some of them, I was resolved not to take any 
part against them. But rendered indignant by the slights which I 
received from them, 1 wrote a series of letters in a morning paper of 
•which I was then proprietor, under the signature of " An Old Ob- 
server," in which I condemned their proceedings, and to the best of 
my abilities used the weapon of ridicule, as well as of argument,, 
against them. 

The result of their appeal to the lord chamberlain was adverse 
to their cause ; they therefore found it necessary to make their peace 
with the manager, and in due time with me also — for they all made 
advances to me, either personally or by deputy. Munden and Incle- 
don swore that they would not be at variance with " Jack Taylor,"" 
and made friendly overtures to me as soon as we met ; and the rest^ 
in general, followed their example. The late Mr. John Kemble,, 
■whose mind was liberal, invited me to dine with him, and placed me 
and Mr. Fawcett on each side of him, at the head of the table, for 
the purpose of restoring harmony between us. Mr. Fawcett asked 
rue to take a glass of w^ine with him, to which I readily assented ;.. 
and an amicable feeling on both sides was immediately renewed, and 
"we have since enjoyed many a hearty laugh together. 

One night, the late Mr. Lewis, as I was behind the scenes of Cov- 
ent Garden theatre, asked me if I had any objection to shake hands 
with Mr. Knight, who had desired him to make the proposal. I, of 
course, readily complied, and we were immediately reconciled on the 
spot. Another evening, when I was in the lobby of the theatre, Mr. 
Morton, the successful dramatic author, and a most friendly man,, 
addressed me in a similar manner, telling me that Mr. Holman was 
in the next box, and was anxious to be on good terms with me ; and 
in consequence of my answer Mr. Holman came forward, and cor- 
diality was completely restored between us. I subsequently wrote 
prologues and epilogues for his dramatic pieces, and no trace of 
Tariance existed on the part of either. 

To none of the members of this opposition to the manager did I 



"the glorious eight." 237 

ever make the least advance towards reconciliation, except to the 
late Mr. Johnstone, generally called Jack Johnstone, the admirable 
singer and performer of Irish characters ; and that overture, on my 
part, arose from an accidental meeting. I had waited on the Hon. 
William "Wellesley Pole, now Lord Maryborough, with whom I had 
the pleasure of being acquainted, and was expecting him in a private 
apartment at the Admiralty, when that nobleman was the secretary, 
and in a few moments Mr. Johnstone was introduced into the same 
room. We walked about the apartment, and took no notice of each 
other, though we had once been upon very friendly terms. At length, 
•wishing for the restoration of amity, I said : " Mr.' Johnstone, as 
some years have passed since there was any ground for a difference 
between us, I do not see why we should not shake hands." He im- 
jnediately advanced, shook me by the hand, and said : " It is very odd 
that a mutual friend of ours this day said to me — ' I must bring about 
a reconciliation between you and Jack Taylor ;' and I am glad that 
there is no reason to wait for his intervention." Johnstone then de- 
sired me to accompany him to Covent Garden, took me into the 
Piazza Coffee-house, vv^here a subscription was opened to relieve the 
sufferers by the destruction of Covent Garden theatre by fire, and 
requested that I would subscribe a guinea, to which I most willingly 
assented. I have since often met Johnstone at the hospitable table 
of my old friend Mr. Const, the chairman of the Middlesex sessionSj^ 
where Johnstone's humour, high spirits, and musical talents, rendered 
him at all times the life of the company. 

Johnstone particularly excelled in singing Irish songs, and several, 
I believe, were written for him by my friend George Colman the 
younger. Whenever Johnstone was asked to sing in company, he 
at once complied, and there was a naivete in his manner that gave 
effect to every point. He was the only actor within my memory 
"who was equally effective and successful in representing the lower 
orders of Irishmen and Irish gentleman : the former he portrayed 
with humorous fidelity, and in the latter he was eminently successful. 

• Moody had great merit in performing low Irish characters ; but he 
"was always heavy and sluggish, in representing those of a higher 
order. Johnstone was also equally successful in representing those 
parts that occupied a middle rank, and were neither low nor high — 
such as Foigard, and Kendrick in *' The Heir at Law :" in the last 
part he displayed a touching and unaffected sensibility. There was 
a shrewdness in his conversation which indicated strongly his know- 
ledge of mankind ; and an archness and waggery in his manner 
which evidently resulted from that knowledge. He was capable of 
a sincere and lasting friendship. 

His accuracy in representing the higher order of Irish was the 
effect of his intercourse with persons of high rank in this country and 
in Ireland. He had been frequently honoured with the countenance 
of his late majesty, when Prince of Wales, and invited to the royal 
parties : a proof that he must have been a well-bred man, or he never 
could have been in the company of a prince distinguished by a union 

Lo 



of ease, affability, and dignity, of which there are perhaps few paral- 
lels in the civilized world. Mr. Johnstone was very prudent in 
pecuniary concerns, from a knowledge of the uncertainty of human 
affairs and the instability of fortune, and was reputed to be very 
wealthy ; but the property which he left was much inferior to what 
rumour had ascribed to him, and evidently proved that he was not of 
so saving a disposition as had been generally supposed. 

He left, as I was told by one of his confidential friends, about 
18,000Z. ; a vast property, when we consider that he kept a good- 
sized house in a conspicuous situation, two maid-servants and gen- 
erally a male attendant, and that he often entertained his friends. 
His companionable qualities, as well as his musical talents, rendered 
him an attractive object, and though there was a familiar spirit in his 
manner, he was always well bred. His last illness, I understood, was 
not very painful ; and his -amiable daughter, Mrs, Wallack, informed 
me, that as she sat on his bed, holding his hand, his death was so easy 
that he expired without her being sensible of it. His health was in 
general good. He was twice severely afRicted by a disorder in his 
eyes, from which my departed brother and myself had the pleasure 
of entirely relieving him. 

Mii. Quick. This gentleman is one of my early theatrical ac- 
quaintances, and, I may add, of my oldest friends. He is still alive, 
but in a very advanced' age. He lives at Islington, and is a constant, 
yet a sober visiter of a neighbouring tavern, where his good sense 
and knowledge of the world, and his lively disposition, excite the 
attention and esteem of his company. By genuine comic talents, 
and a strong sense of humour, he was able to triumph over a very 
peculiar voice, which few who might be in the same situation would 
have been so resolute as to deem fit for the stage ; but his intel- 
lectual powers, and his attentive observation of mankind in all states 
and conditions, and his general excellence in discriminating and sup- 
porting characters brought him into great popularity, and he became 
one of the chief comic performers in the opinion of our late excellent 
monarch George the Third. 

• Mr. Quick was not only admirable in rustic characters, but in those 
of a higher order, where pride and arrogance were to be represented. 
He was also an exact observer, and most effective representative of 
the middle classes of life. He always superadded an arch and sly 
humour, such as a dramatic author cannot give to his original design, 
but must leave to the critical conception, and if I may be permitted 
to use such a word, the elongating humour of the actor. Mr. Quick 
announced his intention of performing the part of Richard the Third 
for one of his annual benefits, and, meeting him before the benefit 
took place, I observed that I supposed he intended to burlesque the 
character, as his pretlecessor Shuter had done on a similar occasion. 
I was surprised to find that he was perfectly serious, and I attended 
the performance. He supported the part with good sense and judg- 
ment throughout, but the peculiarity of his voice occasionally broke 
/orth with such comic effect, that the audience, with all their respect 



MR. QUICK — MR. TERRY. 239 

for his talents and character, could not help giving way to ludicrous 
emotions. 

Mr. Quick was of too liberal a disposition to feel the least envy 
towards any of his contemporaries, but, on the contrary, was most 
ready to acknowledge their merits. I remember once asking him 
what he thought of Shuter, who was dead, and of whom I had seen 
but little, admired as he was, and by all accounts justly deemed one 
of the best comic actors that ever existed. Mr. Quick was lavish in 
his praise, and concluded with saying that " he was all honey," by 
which expression I inferred that all was smooth, sweet, and delicious 
in his acting. Mr. Quick has a son, an attorney by profession, and a 
daughter, married to Mr. Davenport, a translator and teacher of lan- 
guages, a very respectable man, who has published some learned and 
valuable works. 

As long as Mr. Quick's strength would enable him, he every day 
visited his daughter, walking from Islington to Doctor's Commons. 
He voluntarily resigned a good situation and salary at Covent Gar- 
den theatre, because he would not be called upon to act more than 
three times a week ; and as it was impossible that any dramatic 
writer would think of bringing forward a comedy at Covent Garden 
theatre without providing a part for Mr. Quick, the late Mr. Harris, 
then chief proprietor and manager, properly alleged that if a new 
comedy was successful, and likely to have a run, such a condition as 
that of only performing three nights a week must interrupt its course, 
and be injurious to the theatre as well as to the author. Mr. Quick, 
however, considering his age, and having obtained a comfortable in- 
dependence, was inexorable, and relinquished the connexion. 

After his retirement, he told me that as he had never formally 
taken leave of the stage, he had some notion of taking a farewell 
benefit, as many actors and actresses had done ; but not having done 
so, I conclude that, being easy at home, he would not subject himself 
to the suspicion of acting the part of Lovegold in reahty, which he 
had so admirably performed when he was on the stage. — Mr. Quick 
was always esteemed for his conduct and character in private life, 
and was the life of the green-room for his good-humour and unoffend- 
ing waggery. 

Mr. Terry. This gentleman was originally intended for the 
profession of an architect, and I have been assured that his archi- 
tectural drawings were scientific and elegant in a high degree. 
When he determined on a theatrical life, he gave all these drawings 
to his friends. When we became acquainted, I asked him if he had 
one left. He told me that they were all gone, but were of so trifling 
a kind that they would not be worth my acceptance. None of his 
friends, however, thought so, and held these proofs of his taste and 
genius in great value. He was a very intelligent man and an excel- 
lent actor. His voice was harsh and monotonous, but his concep- 
tions were so just, and his acting so determined and appropriate, that 
he was deservedly a favourite with the public. He appeared to 
most advantage in characters of a sarcastic turn, and there was some- 



340 RECORDS OF MY LIFB. 

thing of the same tendency in his conversation. He was very con- 
versant with the old dramatic writers of this country, insomuch that 
my late friend William GifFord, having heard of his knowledge in this 
respect, desired I would submit to his judgment a passage which he 
found difficult, when he had nearly concluded his new edition of Ben 
Jonson's works. The passage was equally difficult to Mr. Terry,,, 
and therefore, it is probable, has been covered by the mist of time. 

Mr. Terry, as might naturally be concluded, w^as an enthusiastic 
admirer of Shakspeare, of whose monument in the church of Strat- 
ford-upon-Avon he had a large copy, and which was so placed in his 
house as to be out of danger from accident or careless servants. 
This effigy of the great bard w^as, I understand, the object of his 
daily contemplation. 

Mr. Terry first appeared in London upon the Haymarket stage^ 
but his merit soon transferred him to Covent Garden and Drury-lane 
theatres, where his reputation considerably increased on account of 
the variety of characters which he represented, in all of which he 
displayed great merit. He married a daughter of Mr. Nasmyth, an 
artist of distinction in Edinburgh. Mrs. Terry is a lady of admired 
talents in the same province of art. 

Mr. Terry was a very judicious critic, theatrical and otherwise. 
As he was for many years in particular intimacy vt^ith Sir Walter 
Scott, it may be easily conceived that he was respected for know- 
ledge and talents. It is deeply to be lamented that he should, in the 
prime of life, and in the height of popularity, have been obliged to 
retire on account of pecuniary difficulties, the result, according ta 
report, of an unfortunate attachment to the gaming-table ; for with 
an amiable, a prudent, and affectionate wife, it is impossible to sup- 
pose that his embarrassments could be the consequence of any 
domestic extravagance. His death was really a loss to the public,, 
as well as to his friends, as he has not left any adequate successor in 
the characters in which he was chiefly successful. 

Mr. Terry displayed dramatic as well as theatrical talents, for it is 
generally understood that he introduced some of the popular novels 
of his friend Sir Walter Scott upon the stage. I have two letters 
from Mr. Terry addressed to me, which I may, perhaps, annex to this 
work ; though, as they are rather of a flattering description, I may 
probably bring my modesty into question ; but, as my merits are but 
humble, it would be absurd indeed to hide my little light under a 
J)ushel. 

' Mr. Emery. No one, within my remembrance, was so natural in 
the representation of rustic characters. There was a simpHcity in 
his manner that had all the effect of reality. In all boorish parts he 
seemed as if he had just come upon the stage immediately from the 
plough, or the side of a wagon. But his rustic range was wider, for 
he could perform clowns of the arch and roguish kind wath equal 
correctness, and also parts of determined villany, in which there 
\vere traits of remorse. A part of this description, in one of my 
friend Morton's comedies, w^as written on purpose for him, and was 



MR. EMERY — MR. BENSLEY. 241 

rendered by him one of the main props of the piece. He possessed 
musical knowledge in no slight degree, and performed on the violon- 
cello with taste and skill ; and it is, therefore, to be regretted, that he 
had not a voice which properly qualified him to take conspicuous 
parts in operas as well as plays. He was also a respectable artist, and 
I have a landscape in water-colours of his drawing, which displays 
the correctness and spirit of a regular professor. Pie was a 
modest man, and did not conceive himself qualified to assume any of 
Shakspeare's characters, insomuch that he wanted to rehnquish the 
part of Caliban, though he had performed it with success. 

Emery was of so convivial a turn, and his company so much 
courted, that on his death he left his family in adverse circumstances. 
Mr. George Robins of Covent Garden, a gentleman well known for 
humanity, as well as for his partiality for the drama and zeal and 
rectitude in his profession, immediately instituted a subscription for 
the support of the widow and children, and by his activity and per- 
severance was able to procure for them a comfortable provision. 
As I have referred to a character in " The Tempest," I cannot avoid 
adverting to the ignorant hostility of some part of the audience 
against Mr. Kemble for using aches as a dissyllable v/hen he per- 
formed the part of Prosper© ; as he was not only authorized by the 
passage in the play, which rendered it absolutely necessary, but by 
Beaumont and Fletcher, Prior, and even by so late a writer as 
Swift. 

During this foolish hostility I met Mr. Bensley, who used to per- 
form the part. We talked on the subject, as it was then rife in the 
newspapers. " Mr, Kemble," said he, " was right : I used the word as 
he did when I first performed the part ; but he was wrong in perse- 
vering to put the audience out of humour by his critical precision, 
I was hissed for pronouncing the word as he did ; but, not disposed 
to sacrifice to the prejudice of ignorance, on the following night I 
omitted the line altogether." Having thus incidentally mentioned 
Mr. Bensley, my respect for his memory as an actor and a gentle- 
man induces me not to pass him over without a farther notice. He 
was an officer in the marines before he ventured on the theatrical 
boards ; and was present, and not undistinguished, at the taking of the 
Havannah. He was a man of good sense, and had the advantage of 
a liberal education. As a proof that his intellectual powers were not 
of an ordinary description, he was intimate with Churchill, Lloyd, the 
elder Colman, and Bonnell Thornton. His voice was rough, and 
had no variety, or rather flexibility ; but he was a very judicious 
actor, and in grave and moral characters very impressive. There 
■was a dry sarcastic humour in his conversation which peculiarly fitted 
him for such characters as Scandal, in the comedy of " Love for 
Love," which he performed admirably. He was for many years 
deemed the best Pierre in "Venice Preserved," and was much 
respected for his performance of lago, and of Evander in " The 
Grecian Daughter," after the death of Barry. At length being tired 
of a theatrical hfe, his friend Mr. Windham procured him the appoint- 



242 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

ment of barrack-master ; and soon after a near relation of the same 
name, who was a director of the East India Company, died and left 
him a very considerable fortune, amounting, according to report, to 
about 60,000/. He then retired to Stanmore, and lived happily with 
a very amiable wife, to whom he had been married many years. 

Within a year or two of his death, 1 understood his mental powers 
deserted him, and rendered him totally unfit for society, but he en- 
joyed every comfort that conjugal affection could impart. He was 
very intimate with the late Lord Torrington and his family, whom I 
had the pleasure of meeting at his house while he continued to reside 
in London. He was highly esteemed by the theatrical community in 
general ; and, if not familiar, was at least courteous to all of thera, 
however humble in their station. It seems strange that his wealthy 
relation did not enable him to quit the stage when he was tired of.it, 
but still suffered him to continue on it till Mr. Windham appointed 
him a barrack- master. He must have known that, though his salary 
enabled him to live like a gentleman, he could not do so without 
strict, if not severe prudence. This relation, indeed, bequeathed to 
him a large fortune, but what gratitude can be due to a man who 
gives what is no longer his own, and who loses the pleasure of seeing 
the effects of his friendship or benevolence, and of witnessing the 
happiness which he is able to confer on worthy objects, for the 
despicable enjoyment of undiminished affluence ? 



CHAPTER XXXV. 

Lewis, a provincial actor. This actor I knew in my early days. 
He was no relation to the admirable comic actor who was so long 
one of the main props of Covent Garden theatre. The person 
whom I now mention was a provincial performer v^^ell known, but 
particularly at Liverpool, when the theatre was under the manage- 
ment of Mr. Younger, who had been engaged for a few seasons at 
Covent Garden theatre. Lewis was an old man when I knew him. 
He had a turn for poetry, and pubUshed a few of his effusions with 
the following poetical motto : — 

The Muses forced me to besiege 'em, 
Necessitas non habet legem. 

He was generally known by the title of " The King of Grief," as 
he had watery eyes, which made him always appear to be weeping, 
and as he was continually predicting niisery to himself. As he was 
a harmless man, and possessed of literary talents, he was treated 
kindly by his professional brethren, and had some share in an annual 
benefit. 



LEWIS— DAGGER MARR. 243 

On one occasion, when the benefit had been very productive to 
him, he was congratulated on his success. Instead of evincing his 
own satisfaction, he began crying, and said, " Ah ! I shall not be so 
lucky next year." Mr. Younger, who was a very friendly man, in- 
vited old Lewis to dine with him at Liverpool. Lewis declined the 
invitation, alleging the indifferent state of his attire. Mr. Younger 
desired him to go into the wardrobe of the theatre, and gave orders 
that he should receive any suit of clothes that fitted him. As soon 
as he was properly accommodated, he rejoined Mr. Younger at din- 
ner. After a few glasses of wine, which instead of raising his spirits 
depressed him, he began weeping. Mr. Younger, with great kind- 
ness, asked him the cause of his sudden grief; " Why," said he, " is 
it not lamentable to think that such a man of genius as myself should 
be obliged to such a stupid fellow as you are for a suit of clothes and 
a dinner V Far from being offended, Mr. Younger only laughed 
at his ludicrous and untimely ingratitude. 

Dagger Mark. This actor was on the stage in the earlier days 
of Garrick. I saw him at my father's when I was very young. He 
had then retired from the stage, but being an intelligent man he lived 
in respectable society. Whether he was honoured with the epithet 
of " Dagger" on account of his being generally employed in repre- 
senting murderers, or whether it was really his Christian name, I never 
heard ; and it is hardly likely that any of the theatrical tribe are now 
old enough to remember.* 

It appears that he had full confidence in his own theatrical merit ; 
for one night when Garrick was performing Ranger, and was run- 
ning off the stage with Jacintha, he stumbled against Marr, who stood 
too near and was pushed aside. Looking after Garrick, and thinking 
he was out of hearing, Marr folded his arms and was heard to say to 
himself, " Ranger ! — give me but your eyes and I will play Ranger 
with you for any sum." Garrick's eyes, indeed, were generally 
allowed to be most brilliant and piercing. 

Marr had a turkey presented to him, and meeting a friend as he 
was carrying it through the streets, he was asked what he was going 
to do with it. He said he was going to present it to Mr. Garrick. 
His friend told him that Mr. Garrick would not accept it. Marr, 
however, determined to persevere. . Mr. Garrick declined the offer, 
observing that he had plenty of turkeys at Hampton, and desiring 
him to keep it for his own family. Marr hov.'ever was so pressing 
that, rather than mortify him, Mr. Garrick agreed to accept it. On 

* My friend Mr, Const related to me a circumstance which perhaps may be con- 
sidered conclusive that " Dagger" was a name given to him in ridicule. It is well 
known that Garrick used to practise his gestures before a glass, particularly when 
he had to utter a soliloquy. One day when Marr was waiting for Garrick in his 
dressing-room, he went before the glass and repeated the following passage in the 
tragedy of Macbeth : — " Is this a dagger that I see before me ?" throwing himself 
•into a tragic attitude, and was so well pleased with his own performance that he ox- 
claimed, " Well done — better than Garrick 1" Garrick had, unperceived, entered 
the room, and walking softly up to Marr, tapped him on the shoulder and said, 
*' Well done, Dagger." 



g44 RECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

his return Marr met the same friend, who asked him if Mr. Garricfc 
had taken the turkey. " Taken it ?" said Marr, " ay, he would have 
taken it if it had been a roll and treacle." 

The odd misanthropic humour of Marr, as his conduct was in gene- 
ral correct, never offended his brethren of the stage, and was entirely- 
thrown aside when he quitted it. My father described him as a well- 
informed man of gentlemanly manners. 

It is well known that Garrick was fond of playing sportive tricks 
upon his friends, and this disposition is alluded to by Goldsmith m 
his " Retaliation." One afternoon, when he expected Dr. Monsey 
to call on him, he desired the servant to conduct the doctor into his 
bedroom. Garrick was announced for King Lear on that night, and 
when Monsey saw him in bed he expressed his surprise, and asked 
him if the play was to be changed. Garrick was dressed, but had 
his night-cap on, and the quilt was drawn over him, to give him the 
appearance of being too ill to rise. Monsey expressed his surprise,^ 
as it was time for Garrick to be at the theatre to dress for King Lear,. 
Garrick, in a languid and whining tone, told him that he was toa 
much indisposed to perform himself, but that there was an actor 
named Marr, so like him in figure, face, and voice, and so admirable 
a mimic, that he had ventured to trust the part to him, and was sure 
that the audience would not perceive the difference. Monsey in vain 
expostulated with him on the hazard which he would incur of public 
displeasure, as it was impossible that the attempt should succeeds 
Garrick pretended to be worse, and requested Monsey to leave the 
room that he might get a little sleep, but desired him to attend the 
theatre and let him know the result. As soon as the doctor quitted 
the room, Garrick jumped out of bed and hastened to the theatre. 
Monsey, partly in compliance with Garrick's desire, and partly from 
curiosity to witness so extraordinary an experiment, attended the 
performance. Having left Garrick in bed, Monsey was bewildered 
by the scene before him, sometimes doubting, and sometimes being 
astonished at the resemblance between Garrick and Marr. At length^^ 
finding that the audience were convinced of Garrick's identity, Mon- 
sey began to suspect that a trick had been practised upon him, and 
hurried to Garricli^s house at the end of the play ; but Garrick was 
too quick for him, and had resumed his situation in bed : having drawa 
the quilt over part of the dress of King Lear which he had not time 
to remove, he was found by Monsey in the same apparent state of 
illness. Some friends of Garrick, who had been let into the secret^, 
and were present at the performance, witnessed and enjoyed the per- 
plexity of Monsey during the whole. As Monsey himself was in- 
clined to play tricks with his friends, this whimsical deception wa& 
deemed but retributive justice on the part of Garrick, and Monsey^ 
the next day shared in the laugh at his own expense, determining 
however to retaliate, and he probably revenged himself on the first 
opportunity. No persons could take more liberties with each other 
than Garrick and Monsey, and none could be more prohfic in prompt 
and facetious abuse. 



PAESOKfi — EDWIN — MOODY. 24& 

Parsons. I had the pleasure of knowing this actor, who wa& 
one of the best comic performers within my remembrance. He 
began the profession with true comic humour, which, combined with 
great observation of the hving world, enabled him to become an exact 
representative of the characters within the province of his powers. 
He was originally a true natural actor, but without losing sight of 
nature, he latterly seemed disposed to reduce acting to a system. 
He told anecdotes without labour and with strong effect. I observed 
him particularly in company, and have heard him examine a story 
when related by another, as a mechanic would examine the structure 
of an instrument, noticing in a low voice the several parts of the nar- 
rative, whether sly, ironical, sarcastic, or ludicrous, yet not in such a 
manner as to disturb the narrator. 

His foresight was admirable ; and here I may properly notice the 
variations of fashion, for the very dress that Wilks, a celebrated actor 
in the time of Betterton and Booth, used to wear when he performed 
Sir Harry Wildair, was identically the same as that which Parsons 
w^ore in Foresight. He was excellent in clowns, drunken men, and 
old coxcombs, and always contented himself with what the author 
had written. He was somewhat of a cynical disposition in general,, 
but, though warm, never intentionally rough to individuals. The 
public hardly need be reminded of his excellence in Crabtree, and 
Sir Fretful Plagiary. 

He had skill in landscape-painting, was very fond of pictures, and 
particularly of the works of Wilson, of which I have seen some of his 
copies, which displayed considerable merit. 

Edwin. This actor was another proof of the vicissitudes of public 
taste. When he first appeared at the Haymarket theatre, in the 
time of Foote, in one of the plays written by that author, Edwin had 
so much of the grimace of a country actor, so disagreeable a voice^ 
such an uncouth form, and such a shambling gait, that he made a very 
unfavourable impression, and was actually hissed when I was in the 
theatre. Yet he gradually grew upon the - audience, and at last be- 
came one of the chief comic favourites of the pubhc, particularly in 
the whimsical farces of Mr. O'Keeffe, in several of which characters 
were designed expressly for him, and he fully executed the design of 
the author. In private life he was a coarse vulgar man, much 
addicted to drinking and swearing, seldom, if ever, uttering a sentence 
without an oath. 

Moody. I was but slightly acquainted with this actor, yet what I 
knew of him convinced me that he was a very shrewd man, but too 
fond of money. He, indeed, made no scruple to acknowledge him- 
self a miser. A friend of his, named Barford, whom I knew, called 
on him one day in summer and found him cutting wood. Barford 
offei'ed to help him, and devoted an hour or two to that occupation,, 
even during the heat of the day. At length he became thirsty, and 
asked Moody for some beer. Moody fetched a bottle, drew the 
cork, and gave Barford a tumbler-full. He then put the cork in, and 
was going to take it away. Barford stopped him, and said he should 



246 HEGORDS OF MY LIFE. 

want more. " I own," replied Moody, " you have deserved it, but 
it goes to my heart to give it you." — He once lent money to Mr. 
Brereton the actor. Brereton did not return it immediately, and 
Moody waited with some degree of patience. At length the first time 
Moody met him, he looked earnestly at him, and vented a kind of 
noise between a sigh and a groan. He repeated this interjection 
whenever he met Brereton, who at length was so annoyed, that he 
put . his hand in his pocket and paid him. Moody took the money, 
and with a gentler aspect, said, "Did I ask j^ou for it, Billy?" 

I dined with him once at Mr. Kemble's vAien he began to exhibit 
signs of age. Mr. Kemble during the whole time called him Gaffer, 
and a more appropriate appellation could hardly have been given 
to him, as he displayed a kind of venerable rustic aspect. He mingled 
little in conversation, but during a pause suddenly broke out into an 
anecdote of a ludicrous kind, which diverted the company, and he then 
relapsed into silence. He had been a handsome man. His features 
"were regular and expressive, but his person was stout and heavy. He 
had a powerful and well-toned voice. In low Irish character he had 
no competitor in his day, and Churchill pays a liberal compliment to 
him and his country in " The Rosciad." His knowledge of the world, 
and good sense, enabled him to do justice to all the characters he 
represented ; but as he became larger in person, he grew sluggish and 
torpid in his acting. His manners were not suited to the Irish gen- 
tleman, and though he acted with strength and effect, his Major 
O'Flaherty was much surpassed by the late Mr. Johnstone, who, if he 
did not exceed Moody in Foigard, was fully equal to him. 

Moody's Sir Sampson Legend was an admirable performance. I 
sat once with Dr. Wolcot at " Love for Love," and he said he 
thought it the most perfect assumption of character he had ever seen. 
His Adam, in " As You Like It," was much admired, but by his ac- 
cent he certainly made Adam an Irishman. He lived on Barnes 
Common, on retiring from the stage, and dated his letter to the eight 
performers who had entered into opposition to the manager of Covent 
Garden theatre, from "an obscure corner of the Thames." He 
encouraged them to persevere, and ludicrously said in his letter, " Do 
ye want any money?" though, if they had, he was probably the last 
person from whom they could have reason to expect it. He grew 
at last so negligent in his acting, that his Major Oldfox was a mass of 
torpid languor; and when he appeared in one of the witches in 
" Macbeth," his boots were plainly seen under her petticoats. The 
last time I ever saw him was at the late Mr. Weltje's, at Hammer- 
smith, where he called as he went to Shepherd's Bush, his last resi- 
dence. The conversation happened to turn on Mr. Sheridan, who 
was then alive, and who survived Moody. Some considerable 
arrears of salary had been due to Moody, who had threatened to go to 
Stafford, for which Sheridan was then a candidate, and to state his 
case to the electors. He then soon obtained his money. 

The conversation, as I have observed, turning upon Sheridan the 
last time I saw Moody, he said, " I have the highest respect for Mr. 



MACKLIPT. 247 

Sheridan ; I honour his talents, and would do any thing to show my 
friendship for him, but take his word." Having seen him nearly in 
the prime of life, I was shocked, at this last meeting, to see the 
vast alteration in his person. His handsome manly countenance 
was pallid, wrinkled, and cadaverous. His robust frame had become 
feeble, and he required help in walking, but I saw in his notice of 
Mr. Sheridan, that his master passion, the love of money, had by no 
means partaken of his general deca5\ 

The earlier part of his theatrical life had been passed in Jamaica, 
and being accustomed to the manners of the negroes, the part of 
Mungo was originally intendied for hira ; but Dibdio, the author of 
" The Padlock," wished to perform it himself, and it was impossible 
that anybody could have performed it with more spirit, humour, and 
character. The afterpiece itself was the most popular within my 
remembrance. It had the support originally of the elder Bannister, 
Vernon, -i^ibdin, and Mrs. Arne, wife of Michael Arne, who was 
esteemed the best singer of her time, but who unhappily died in 
early life. 



. CHAPTER XXXVI. 

Charles Macklin. I knew this actor in the decline of his Me, or 
rather in his old age. He was a man of an irritable disposition, but 
very civil and affable when not contradicted. The first time I had 
any personal intercourse with him was in the front boxes of Covent 
Garden theatre. He was accustomed to express his opinions aloud, 
if any thing struck him on the stage. In that audible manner he said 
something which did not appear to me to be well-founded, and I ven- 
tured to express a different opinion ; — the partition of the boxes only 
between us. Whether he assented to my opinion, and was too proud 
to concur, or whether his irascible temper resented my forwardness, 
5 know not, but he immediately raised his voice loud enough to be 
heard all over the theatre, and said — "Write down what you have 
said, sir, and I will answer it." I was awed into silence, for two 
reasons, — one, because I was really too diffident to answer this voci- 
ferous speech of the veteran ; and the other, because I was afraid 
that people at a distance might suppose I had insulted him ; I there- 
fore made no reply. 

Some years after this, I met him at the house of Merlin, the great 
mechanic, in Prince's-street, Hanover-square. Merlin attended him 
with great respect, and displayed all his curious mechanical works to 
him. Macklin was delighted, and seemed to be particularly gratified 
with a stool on which he turned himself about with ease ; and he 
uttered many humorous sallies on the occasion. When he had suffi- 
ciently diverted the persons present, and gratified his own curiosity 



248 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

with the extraordinary skill and ingenuity which all Merlin's work& 
displayed, Macklin quitted his moveable seat, and, looking at Merlin^ 
uttered these words, with a gravity almost solemn : " Sir, if I were a 
despotic monarch, I would have you confined in a room ; I would 
supply all your wants and wishes ; I should then say to you, for the 
benefit of mankind, Think !" The last word he pronounced in the 
most emphatic manner, and then retired respectfully from the com- 
pany. The beginning of this speech, and the awful manner in which 
it was delivered, for a moment seemed to terrify Merlin, but the com- 
plimentary conclusion evidently gave him much pleasure. 

When Macklin was announced for* Macbeth, at Covent Garden 
theatre, my father's old friend, Mr. Brooke, told me he would write 
to Macklin for an order, and that if I would take it, I should go with 
him to the play. I took the note, which contained a I'equest for an 
order for his old friend Jemmy Brooke. Macklin wrote an answer in 
my presence, which I well recollect was in the following words : — 

" Mr. Macklin presents his compliments to his old friend Jemmy 
Brooke. He always valued the man, and the pleasure of thinking he 
was his friend ; wishes to increase the idea, and begs he w411 accept 
the enclosed order for two." 

I remember to have dined with Macklin at the house of a clergyman 
named Clarke, who had paid Opie for a. portrait of him. The Rev. 
Mr. Whalley, the editor of the works of Ben Jonson and of Beau- 
mont and Fletcher, was of the party. This learned, intelligent, and 
pleasant gentleman, who, I believe, was one of the masters of Mer- 
chant Tailors' School, was afterward, as 1 understood, obliged ta 
leave this country, having, like myself, been ensnared by a false friend 
to accept bills which he was unable to discharge. I am afraid that 
this respectable gentleman, acute critic, and agreeable companion^ 
■was never able to return to England. I remember that though the 
party w^as made chiefly on account of Macklin, he said, that if a man 
■was thought of importance enough to have his portrait painted, he 
ought to be paid for lending his features. Whether this remark was 
intended as a hint to our host, I know not, but it illustrates the rough 
and interested character of Macklin. 

The character of Macbeth had been hitherto performed in the 
attire of an English general ; but Macklin was the first who per- 
formed it in the old Scottish garb. His appearance was previously 
announced by the Coldstream March, which I then thought the most 
delightful music I had ever heard ; and I never hear it now without 
most pleasing recollections. When Macklin appeared on the bridge^ 
he was received with shouts of applause, which were repeated 
throughout his performance. I was seated in the pit, and so near the 
orchestra that I had a full opportunity of seeing him to advantage, 
Garrick's representation of the character was before my time ; Mack- 
lin's was certainly not marked by studied grace of deportment ; but 
he seemed to be more earnest in the character than any actor I have 
subsequently seen. 

Here I must stop for a moment to say, that when Mr. John Kem^ 



MACKLIN. 249 

hie first performed the part, he sent a note to me, requesting! would 
be present, saying, " My soul and body on the action, both /" I well 
recollect his performance. It was animated with more spirit than I 
had ever seen in his previous efforts ; and they who saw his Pierre 
after he resigned Jaffier, and in which he exhibited the most gallant 
ardour, may form some conception of his mode of expressing the fierjr 
passages of Macbeth. I often saw him afterward in the same part, 
and ventured to tell him that he never equalled his first perforrnance. 
" Why surely, Taylor," said he, " you must be wrong. What ! do 
you think I have not improved in twenty years?" This, however, 
he said in perfect good-humour. ' . - 

To return to Macklin. My friend Arthur Murphy admitted his 
want of grace, but contended for his correctness, judgment, and 
energy, happily styling his performance as "a black-letter cojnj of 
Macbeth." 

I attended his performance two nights after. A party had been 
a-aised against him, consisting, as reported, of the friends of Reddish ; 
and he experienced a mixed reception, but applause predominated. 
He announced his intention of developing the conspiracy which had 
been raised against him, on his next appearance. I was again present. 
He came forward in his usual dress, and v^^as w^ell received. The 
audience called for a chair, on which he sat, and began his story. 
He offered however no satisfactory proof, and the audience began to 
murmur. He then said he had authority upon which he could con- 
fidently rely ; and in a pathetic tone, putting his hand before his eyes 
as if he was shedding tears, said, " It was my wife." The audience 
then expressed their disapprobation, and would hear no more. He 
was, however, again announced for Macbeth ; and desirous of witness- 
ing the end of the affiiir, I went the third time. The opposing party 
had then gained the ascendant, and he was saluted with a violent hiss 
as soon as he appeared ; and this hostility was so determined, that he 
went through the part in dumb show, for not a word could -be heard ; 
yet silence and applause attended all the other performers. I did 
not attend on the fourth night, but met a friend who had just left the 
theatre, and who told me that a board was brought forward on the 
stage, on which was written, " Mr. Macklin is discharged from this, 
theatre." 

He had certainly given no provocation for this hostility, except to 
certain critics who presumed to think that he had no right to attempt 
a part so difierent from his usual style of acting. He discovered- 
some of the party, brought an action against them, and they were 
cast. On hearing the verdict in the court, Macklin arose, and 
addressing the judge, declared that he did not seek for any damages, 
but only wished to vindicate his character, and to support the rights 
of his profession. The judge said: "Mr. Macklin, I have often 
admired your talents, but you have never acted better than on this 
occasion." After being discharged from Covent Garden theatre, 
Macklin went to Ireland, where, being a native of the country, and 
admired as an actor, he was well received. 



250 REC0RD6 OF MY LIFE. 

Many years elapsed, when he returned to London, resumed his 
situation at that theatre, and appeared in his favourite part of Siiy- 
lock. His memory, however, was evidently impaired ; and after sev- 
eral attempts to repeat the character, he was at length obliged to re- 
linquish the stage. Not having provided for old age, he was in dan- 
ger of being reduced to a necessitous condition, but his friend Arthur 
Murphy issued proposals for publishing by subscription his play of 
*' The Man of the World," and the farce of " Love a la Mode," to 
which was prefixed a print of himself, from a very strong likeness by 
Opie. The subscription was warmly patronised, and 1 had the plea- 
sure of contributing my mite on the occasion. 

Macklin's devotion to the stage continued long after he had quitted 
it. He was, of course, indulged by the late Mr. Harris with the 
freedom of the theatre, when he frequently took his station in the first 
row of the pit ; and if an actor's voice did not reach him, he was sure 
to get up, and in a commanding tone say, " Speak louder, sir, I 
cannot hear you." The actors, in general, tolerated his peculiari- 
ties, and he lived upon good terms with them. He had not, however, 
relinquished his dramatic pen ; for he met me one day, and told me 
that he would fix a day when he v/ould give me a beefsteak ; that the 
windows should be shut and the door locked after dinner, and he 
ivould read to me a comedy which he had written. His increasing 
infirmities, however, prevented his making the appointment, and i 
therefore probably escaped from a trial of patience ; for, as he was of 
€in overbearing disposition, I should have been obliged to acquiesce 
in the propriety of all I was to hear, or expose myself to the violence 
of his temper. 

His origin was doubtful ; but I remember he told me, when I had 
"become better acquainted with him, that when he first came to Lon- 
don, he went to a relation of his mother, who kept a public-house in 
Lincoln's-Inn Fields, where there were then but few houses, and, as I 
understood, acted as a v/aiter. Tired and ashamed of this situation, 
he returned to Ireland, and joined a strolling cosnpany of actors. At ; 
length he obtained a situation on the Dublin stage, and afterward in i 
London. He told me that his first performance of Shylock was int 
Lord Lansdown's alteration of Shakspeare's play, v/hich was brought : 
forward under the title of " The Jew of Venice ;" and that it was for 
his performance in this play that the following well-known couplet,! 
was written upon him : 

This is the Jew 

That Shakspeare drew. ] 

He said the pit was at that period generally attended by a more 
select audience than were to be seen there at the present time. As 
far as I can recollect, the following were his words : — " Sir, you then 
saw no red cloaks, and heard no pattens in the pit, but you saw mer- 
chants from the city with big wigs, lawyers from the Temple with big 



MACKLIN. 251 

"wigs, and physicians from the coffee-houses with big wigs ; and the 
whole exhibited such a formidable grizzle as might well shake the 
nerves of actors and authors." His reputation being established 
he was then engaged by Mr. Fleetwood for Drury-lane theatre. 

Dr. Wolcot and I were one evening at the Rainbow in King-street, 
Covent Garden, a coffee-bouse where v/e used often to sup, when 
'Macklin came into one of the boxes. As the doctor wanted to have 
some intercourse with the veteran, and as I was acquainted with him, 
we joined him, and were glad to find him in a talking mood. I 
found his memory much impaired, but he recollected facts, though 
he forgot names. My little acquaintance with theatrical history, 
however, enabled me to prompt him, and he told the following story 
nearly as I shall give it. 

'•' Sir, I remember I once played the character of the boy who 
wears red breeches and offends, his mother." "Jerry Blackaire, 
in ' The Plain Dealer,' I suppose," said I. " Yes, sir, that was the 
part. Well, sir, I played a great number of tricks to divert the 
audience ; and the chief part was played by the surly, fat fellow, 
whose name I have forgot." " Probably Quin, sir," "Ay, sir, that 
•was the man. Well, sir, when I went into the green-room, the 
surly, fat man began to scold me, and told me that while I played 
my tricks, it was impossible to have a chaste scene with me. I told 
him that, different as our cast was, I had the public to please as well 
as himself. 'But, sir,' said he, you must get rid of your tricks.' I 
said I could not. 'But, sir,' said he, < you shall.' By this time I was 
provoked, and said, < You lie ;' upon which he threw an apple that he 
was mumbling into my face. Sir, I was a fighting cull in those 
days, and I paid him so well about the face that it swelled, and 
rendered him hardly articulate. He was obliged to go on the stage 
again, but he mumbled his part so much that he was hissed. He 
left the stage, and somebody went forward and said that he was 
suddenly taken ill. Whether he finished his part ! don't remember, 
but I remember that at the end of the play he sent me a challenge, 
and said he should wait for me at the pillar in Covent Garden. But, 
sir, 1 was a pantomime cull in those days, and I sent word that I would 
come to hirn when the entertainment was over. But, sir, the man- 
ager, a sweet man, who was my great friend, resolved that nothing fatal 
should take place— I forget his name." " Probably Fleetwood, sir." 
*' Ay, that was the man, — sent a message to the surly fellow at the 
pillar, and would make up a bed for me in the theatre for fear of con- 
sequences, and so the matter ended." 

I remember this pillar in the middle of Covent Garden. It had a 
large golden ball at the top, which I afterward saw in Mr. Kemble's 
garden, in Great Russell-street, Bloomsbury. Yet Macklin lost the 
friendship of Fleetwood by joining in an opposition to his intention 
of reducing the salaries of his actors ; and this led finally to a rup- 
ture between Macklin and Garrick, though the latter behaved to him 
■with great generosity, offering to divide his salary with him, on find- 



^50 RECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

ing that he could not restore him to Fleetwood's favour. The whole 
transaction is stated by Mr. Murphy in his hfe of Garrick, and all 
the papers are given which passed on the occasion. Mackhn's case 
was drawn up by Mr. Corbyn Morris, a literary gentleman well known 
at that time, and Garrick's answer by Mr. Guthrie, the historian. 
It is strange that Garrick did not draw up his own case, as he did 
jiot want literary powers either in prose or in verse. 

It is well known that Junius addressed a brutal letter to Garrick, 
on a suspicion that he had given an information to his majesty George 
the Third, that Junius would write no more. Garrick sent an an- 
swer to this letter in a very spirited yet respectful style. Junius's 
brief but abusive letter was not published at the time, but is seen in 
the last edition of Junius, in three volumes, including all the private 
correspondence between Junius and Mr. Henry Sampson Wocdfall, 
and Junius and Wilkes, &c. ; but as the letter from Junius to Garrick 
was not published at the time, Garrick's answer never appeared. I 
understand that it will appear among the Garrick papers, which will 
most probably be published before the present work is put to press, 
and will show Garrick in a very favourable light. 

I will now proceed with some further account of Macklin. He 
displayed the violence of his temper in thrusting his cane into the 
eye of Mr. Hallam, the uncle of Mrs. Mattocks, the admired comic 
actress. Mr. Hallam died in consequence of this wound, which per- 
forated the brain, and Macklin was tried for the crime at the Old 
Bailey, but acquitted, because it did not proceed from malice pre- 
pense. 

It was formerly the custom with the actors and many literary char- 
acters of the time, to walk in the piazzas of Covent Garden in the 
middle of the day, and then to adjourn to dinner at the Bedford and 
other coffee-houses in the neighbourhood, and Mr. Murphy assured 
me that he was present at the Ibllowing scene. Foote was walking 
with one party of friends, and Macklin with another. Foote diverted 
his friends at the expense of Macklin, whom he not only turned into 
ridicule, but attacked his character on all points. Macklin was not 
less active in abusing Foote. This scene continued for some time, 
and the reciprocal attacks seemed to receive an additional stimulus 
as they passed each other. At length all the friends of both parties 
went away, and Foote and Macklin were left masters of the field ; 
but Murphy lingered after he had taken leave of Foote, merely to 
see how the combatants would treat each other. To his surprise, 
Foote advanced to Macklin, and said in an amicable manner, 
^'Macklin, as we are left alone, suppose we take a beefsteak to- 
gether." " With all my heart," said Macklin ; and they adjourned 
$0 the Bedford, as if they had been the best of friends. They after- 
ward, however, came to an open rupture. 

Both gave public readings, in which they introduced the most vin- 
dictive abuse of each other. My father used to attend them both. 
Macklin severely arraigned the moral character of Foote, and his 



MACKLIN. S5S 

blaring impudence in exposing private persons on the stage. Foote 
was sportive and inventive. Among otlier matters which my father 
told me of this warfare, he said Foote expressed his surprise that 
Macklin should have had a Latin quotation in his advertisement,— 
*' but I have it," said he : " when he v^as footman to a wild extrava- 
gant student at the university, and carried his master's books to the 
pawnbroker's, he probably picked up this quotation on the way.'* 
After a pause, Foote added, " No, that could not be, for the fellow 
could not read at the time." It hardly need be said that Macklin 
never was in that capacity, • The belligerents, however, with all the 
solemnity on one side, and all the wit on the other, tired the town, 
raised the siege, and became good friends again. 

Macklin was a severe father. He gave his daughter, indeed, ais 
accomplished education, and forsotne years came annually from Dub- 
lin, his bead-quarters, to play his Shylock and Sir Archy for her 
benefit ; but he always made her pay for the journey and. his per- 
formance, and she was always obliged to lend her gold watch to a 
friend during his stay in London, lest he should insist upon having it, 
as he was too austere for her to dispute his will. Her figure was 
good, and her manner easy and elegant, but her face was plain, 
though animated by expression. She was a very sprightly actress, 
and drew from real life. Her character through life was not only 
unimpeached, but highly respected. 

Churchill has described Macklin's face in very coarse terms in his 
*' Rosciad ;" and Quin said of him, " If God writes a legible hand, 
that fellow is a villain." At another time, Quin had the hardihood to 
say to Macklin himself, "Mr. Macklin, by the lines — I beg your 
pardon, sir — by the cordage of your face, you should be hanged." 

hi Shylock, in Sir Archy Macsarcasm, and in Sir Pertinax Mac- 
sycophant, he was, in my opinion, far superior to all his successors. 
Cooke might speak the Scottish language better, but he did not fill 
the stage so well, and had not such a biting humour. Mr. Young' 
has lately performed Sir Pertinax with merited success. 

I saw Macklin perforin lago, and Sir Paul Pliant, and other char- 
acters. In lago, though doubtless he was correct in his conception 
of the character, he was coarse and clumsy in his deportment, and 
nothing could be more rough than his manner of stabbing Emilia, and 
running from the stage in the last scene. His Sir Paul was not want- 
ing in noisy humour, but was rude in action. He was too theoreti- 
cal for nature. He had three pauses in his acting — the first, mode- 
rate ; the second, twice as long ; but his last, or " grand pause," as 
he styled it, was so long, that the prompter, on one occasion, thinking 
his memory failed, repeated the cue, as it is technically called, several 
times, and at last so loud as to be heard by the audience. At length 
Macklin rushed from the stage and knocked him down, exclaiming, 
«' The fellow interrupted me in my grand pause." 

Macklin had a son, who I believe held a place in a government 
office, and according to report, died in India. His features were 



254 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

even more plain than those of his father, I never heard that he was 
at all distinguished for talents. He was once pointed out to me as 
the son of Macklin, and 1 saw him again. He was a person of whom 
nothing was heard either good or bad. 

There are two Lives of Macklin, one in a single volume written by 
bis and my old friend Mr. Cooke, the barrister, the author of " The 
Life of Foote," and many temporary pamphlets, besides a very good 
poem entitled " Conversation." Here I may relate a circumstance 
which manifests an extraordinary revolution in the life of a conspicu- 
ous character. A lieutenant in the royal navy had written a politi- 
cal pamphlet, but being called to his duty, was not able to see it 
through the press. He therefore placed it in the hands of a book- 
seller, desiring that he would give it to some literary man, who, for 
duly preparing it for publication, should have half the profits. The 
bookseller gave it Mr. Cooke., who soon discharged his duty. The 
work was published, and the profits were thirty pounds, all of which 
was given to Mr. Cooke, who took his portion, and reserved the other 
half for the author whenever he should call for it. Many years elapsed 
and he heard nothing of him. At length a gentleman called on him, 
told his name, and declared himself to be the author of the pam- 
phlet, telling him he knew that fifteen pounds were due to him on 
account of the pamphlet, and adding, he was ashamed to take it, but 
that "his poverty and not his will" consented, as he had a wife and an 
increasing family. Mr. Cooke had the money ready for him, which 
the stranger took, and expressed his gratitude at parting. This 
necessitous author was the late Lord Erskine. 

This fact may be depended on, upon the unquestionable authority 
of Mr. Cooke. 

The other " Life of Macklin," in two volumes, was written by a 
literary gentleman who was reputed to be a son of Macklin. Mr. 
Cooke's, however, was likely to be the most authentic account, as 
he had known Macklin from an early period, and gave in it a general 
history of the stage during Macklin's time. 

It has been generally understood that Dr. Johnson alluded to Mack- 
lin when he spoke of a person whose conversation was " a perpetual 
renovation of hope, with a constant disappointment." As far as I 
had an opportunity of judging, the description was just. Macklin 
was fond of talking, and generally bad all the talk to himself, for the 
company were unwilling to interrupt a man at his very advanced age, 
expecting that something of historical, political, or theatrical matter 
would be learned from him. He mentioned Booth, Wilks, and Cib- 
ber ; and when on the eve of telling a story of one, he rambled from 
one to the other, and nothing connected could be obtained. He 
mentioned Mrs. Oldfield with so much warmth and admiration, that 
we expected to hear something of her private history, or of her act- 
ing ; yet all we learned was, that she had lived with Mr. Arthur Main- 
waring, which all the world knew. 

Booth's widow, he said, who upvvards of forty years after the death 



MACKLIN — MR. SHERIDAN, SENIOR. 255 

of her husband, placed a monument to his memory in Poet's Corner^ 
Westminster Abbey (and whose maiden name was Santlow), was an 
admirable dancer, and had a very fine head of hair, which, in the 
middle of a dance, she always contrived to throw over her neck and 
shoulders in a very interesting and picturesque manner. 

The hours, however, did not pass without amusement, for it was 
gratifying to see a man so much advanced in life, with high sijirits and 
strong lungs, particularly as wc were buoyed up all the time by the 
expectation of hearing something entertaining, nor were we alto- 
gether disappointed. There was a print from Opie's portrait, which 
accompanied Macklin's works as published by subscription by his^ 
friend Arthur Murphy. 

The last time I ever saw Macklin was in Henrietta-street, Covent 
Garden,^ during a very severe frost, when the snow had hardened oir 
the ground. He was well muffled up in a great coat, and walked to* 
and fro with great vigour. I addressed him, and said, " Well, Mr. 
Macklin, I suppose you are comparing the merits of former actors 
with those of the present day." " The what of the present day?'*' 
said he, in a very loud tone ; " the what, sir ?" in a louder tone, " the 
actors, sir ?" He repeated his question with a voice that made the 
whole street ring, " Perhaps, sir," said I, " you will not allow the 
present race to be actors." "Good morning, sir," said he, and ab- 
ruptly parted from me, resuming his walk with extraordinary strength 
and speed. 

His first wife, who was long before my time, I have always heard 
was an excellent actress. Plain as Macklin was when 1 knew him^ 
niy mother assured me that she remembered him to be a smart-look- 
ing dark man, and a very sprightly actor, even in juvenile parts, but 
hard in his manner, and apt to resort to his pauses, which he after- 
ward graduated as I have before mentioned. 

I have perhaps dwelt too long upon Macklin, but as he was a popu- 
lar actor, a good dramatic writer, and a distinguished person in his 
day, he ought not to be hastily dismissed, since very few in his profes- 
sion have come before the public with equal pretensions to their 
favour. 



CHAPTER XXXVH. 

With Mr. Thomas Sheridan, the father of Mr. Richard Brins«> 
ley Sheridan, who was so justly celebrated for his dramatic geniuSj, 
political knowledge, and oratorical powers, I was slightly acquainted j. 
sufficient, however, to convince me that he was a grave, seiisiblej. 
and intelligent man, polite, but reserved in his manners. I saw hin> 
perform Hamlet and Brutus at the Haymarket theatre, and as far 
as I recollect of his acting, Churchill has given a just description of 

M2 



256 RECORDS OF MT LIFE. 

him in his *' Rosciad." His son, Brinsley, is said to have accounted 
for his not having seen Garrick so often as he wished, after he had 
once seen him, in consequence of having heard from his father that 
he himself was the best actor of the time ; and as he considered his 
father rather a declaimer than an actor, rel} ing then upon his fathei's 
judgment and veracity, he felt no curiosity to see Gariick. How- 
ever, when he had seen him, he attributed his father's opinion of 
himself to that natural partiality with which we all estimate our own 
merits. 

After the elder Mr. Sheridan had long relinquished acting, he 
joined with Mr. Henderson in public readings, for which they were 
well qualified by their respective talents. Mr. Sheridan took the 
graver, and Mr. Henderson the lighter and facetious department of 
these amusements, which were very attractive. It was in this spe- 
cies of entertainment that Mr. Henderson brought into notice the 
humorous tale of John Giipin, which he recited with so much spirit 
and comic effect that it drew public attention to the poems of Cow- 
per in general, which excellent as they are, particularly " The Task," 
were but little known at the time, though they are now justly in 
universal estimation. 

Mr. Sheridan, in his portion of the readings, introduced too much 
of his dissertation on elocution, which was by no means suited to the 
taste of a mixed audience, and was indeed heavy in effect. His 
recital of the works of others v»'as very impressive, but his voice 
was, as Churchill describes it, "irregular, deep, and shrill by fits." 
He gave Shenstone's " Elegy on Jesse," in a very pathetic manner, 
but his chief excellence was in Dryden's "Alexaiader's Feast," which 
he recited by heart, and in the most animated manner. Indeed I 
cannot think it possible for anybody to recite that poem in a more 
impressive manner or with stronger effect. The great charm, how- 
ever, of these readings, was Mr. Henderson's John Gilpin, which 
rendered the tale popular in all quarters. 

Here I cannot but regret that I had not the genius of Cowper, 
for my tale of " Monsieur Tonson," wkich was admirably recited by 
Mr. Fawcett, was not less popular in its day, and drew crowded 
audiences to Freemasons' Tavern. Several of the actors, among 
whom were Mr. John Palmer, Mr. Burton, and many provincial 
performers, called on me requesting that I would read it to them that 
they might better understand the conceptions of the author. They 
should rather have applied to Mr, Fawcett, whose example would 
have been a more instructive lesson.* 

The story has since been dramatized and expanded by Mr. Mon- 

* As I was one morning knocking at the door of a friend, a decent-looking person, 
but with rough manner, addressed me, abruptly saying, " Are you the author of 
Monsieur Tonson ?" I simply answered, " I own my guilt." « I thought no," said 
iie, and went away with equal abruptness; and if this may be considered a species 
of fame, I have seen myself pointed at in coffee-houses on the same account. 



TOM KING. 25t 

crief, a gentleman whom I have not the pleasure of knowing, but 
who has done me the honour to dedicate his humorous farce to me. 

I must again refer to the readings, because they are connected 
with a ludicrous anecdote. Mr. Henderson's facetious readings 
rendered the entertainment so popular and attractive that it must have 
been very profitable to the performers; but notwithstanding the 
emoluments, Mr. Sheridan expressed some discontent, " For," said 
he, " I wanted the readings to be rather instructive than diverting, 
and calculated to attract the select and judicious ; but Mr. Henderson 
has frustrated my intention by bringing in the whole town.'" Those 
who knew the grave character of the elder Mr. Sheridan, and his 
fondness for his favourite subject, elocution, will not be surprised at 
his whimsical disappointment. 

With Mii. Thomas King, generally called ToxM King from his 
easy manners and facetious talents, I was well acquainted. Church- 
ill says of him, 

'Mongst Drury's sons he comes and shines in brass. 

It has been supposed by some that the critical poet alluded to his 
performance of Brass in the comedy of " The Confederacy," but 
this is a mistake. He was indeed admirable in that character, but 
the poet alluded to his general excellence in characters of a bold and 
spirited nature, such as the bucks and bloods of that time, as well as 
to the daring and intrusive characters of the old comedies. 

King possessed a shrewd mind, and copied his characters from real 
life, and from the manners of any of his predecessors. He was 
admirable in story-telling in private company, and when any persons 
beat about the bush to draw from him a particular story, he always 
stopped them and said, " I see what you are at, don't give yourself 
any trouble," and he would then begin to tell a facetious anecdote, 
which required some degree of acting, as if it was some narrative of 
the day. My friend Donaldson, of whom I have given some accounta 
was his schoolfellow at Westminster. 

To show the revolutions of a theatrical life, Tom King, who after- 
ward became one of the chief comic actors of his time, told his 
friend Donaldson that, soon after he adopted the profession, he walked 
all the way from Beaconslield to Southwark to procure money from 
a friend to buy a pair of stockings, and when he walked back to 
perform the next day, his share of the profits was eighteen-pence, 
and his proportion, on a division, of the ends of casdles. 

Poor King unfortunately had an incurable propensity to gaming. 
After frequent and heavy losses he won one evening about 7000L 
He immediately left the gaming-table and ran home. His wife was 
in bed He fell upon his knees by the side of the bed and called 
vehemently for a Bible. Unhappily there was no such unprofessional 
book in the house, but King remained on his knees and solemnly 
swore that he would never visit a gaming-table again. His propcE- 



•258 RECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

sity, however, returned upon him, and he ventured his all one night, 
which was won by a colonel in the British army, a very rich man, 
not without a strong suspicion that he was guilty of false play ; and 
the suspicion was so near proof, that he went to all the clubs of 
which he was a member and erased his name from the books, con- 
scious that, when an explanation took place, he would have been 
dismissed with infamy from them all. This man, who was of a good 
famil}^ after his conduct towards King, was discarded from society, 
and used to v/ander alone through the streets, an object of contempt 
to all who had before known and respected him. 

King once kept his carriage, had a house in Great Queen-street, 
Lincoln's-Inn Fields, and a villa at Hampton, near the mansion of 
his friend Garrick, who held him in high regard ; but his fatal turn 
for gaming deprived him of these advantages, and rendered him a 
poor man for the remainder of his life. He had for several years 
been attached to Miss Baker, a celebrated dancer at Drury-Iane 
theatre, and happening to break his leg, and being attended by her 
with great kindness during his illness, he married her on his recovery, 
and they lived many years as happily together after such a change 
of fortune, the result of his own imprudence, as could well be 
expected. 

It is lamentable to state that this affectionate wife, who had shared 
prosperity with him, when, besides the advantages which I have 
mentioned, he enjoyed a large weekly salary, and a very productive 
annual benefit, was after his death obliged to live in a garret in Tot- 
tenham-court road, supported chiefly by those who knew her in 
better days. She bore the reverse of her fortune with patience and 
submission ; and even with her scanty means, by her taste rendered 
her apartment an agreeable scene of simple decoration. 

King possessed literary talents and a turn for poetry. I called on 
him one morning when he lodged in a respectable house in Store- 
street, Bedford-square, and as he had not left the stage and his 
benefit was ap[)roaching, I advised him to throv/ into rhyme a story 
which I had heard i)im tell iti prose, as it would be something novel 
on the occasion. He complied with my advice, and soon after read 
to me his versification, in which he had retained all the humorous 
points of the story, and the whole was written with great spirit. He 
recited it on the stage with good efl'ect. 

There are many persons who hold peetry in contempt, and some 
even in horror; but if King had devoted himself as much to the Muse as 
he did to the gaming-table, he might have added lustre to his character, 
have j)rofited by his literary effusions, have ended his life in affluence, 
and his faithful and affectionate wile would have inherited the com- 
fort of an elegant independence, in some degree to console her for 
the loss of her husbajid. 

I had some opportunities of rendering him literary service, which 
always afforded me pleasure, and which he acknowledged with much 
jnore gratitude than that service could possibly have deserved. His 



TOM kiNG — WILLIAM LEtVIS. §50 

Tom in " The Conscious Lovers," was excellent, so was his Trap- 
panti and Lissardo. Lissardo was the last character I saw him 
perform. While he stood, he acted with his former spirit and humour ; 
but when he fell upon his knees, and Don Felix held the sword at 
his breast, he was unable to get up, and the master was obliged to 
iielp the servant to regain his i'eet. 

These characters, and others of a similar description, were exactly 
suited to his talents ; but in the real fine gentleman there was a kind 
of briskness in his manner and a sort of subtle look in his features, 
by no means consistent with high-bred deportment. In this respect 
he was greatly eclipsed by his powerful competitor Woodward, who 
could play the high-bred gentleman or fop, and was equally excellent 
in all the other characters in which King was chiefly successful. 
Poor King ! 1 wrote an occasional address on his death, which I had 
the pleasure to hear was very gratifying to his widow. 

I first saw Woodward in the part of the Copper Captain, and it is 
not possible for me to describe the nature, truth, and perseverance 
with which he gave the laugh introduced into the character ; but I 
recollect well that it spread the contagion of laughter over the whole 
audience. I afterward saw King several times in the same character, 
and it is but justice to his memory to say, that his laugh, though quite 
different from that of Woodward, was not less natural, and hardly 
less effective. Yet after all there is no adequate reason for such a 
laugh; for though the captain might be glad that Estifania had dis- 
posed of his baubles, a smile would have been sufficient, particularly 
as it only served to convince him that his wife was a cheat, as well 
as otherwise a frail woman. It reminds me of what Churchill says 
of love in FalstafF: — 

When Falstaff stands detected in a lie, 
Why without reason rolls love's glassy eye ? 
Why, there's no cause, at least no cause we know, — 
It was the fashion twenty years ago. 

With equal justice the laugh may be condenn.ned, but it is so rooted 
to the stage by tradition, that no actor must now assume the part of 
the Copper Captain who is not provided with a good contagious 
laugh, however ably he may otherwise support the whole of the 
character. 

Mr. William Lewis. I saw this gentleman the first night of 
his appearance on the London stage, and his performance of Belcour, 
in "The West Indian," was so spirited and characteristic, that he 
was soon distinguished by the title of Belcour Lewis. His figure 
was light and his manner easy. He was a fit successor to Wood- 
ward, whose characters he in general inherited. He also appeared 
with success in tragic parts, and I read a criticism on his acting in 
Hannah More's tragedy of " Percy," actually written by Mr. Garrick 
by desire of his friend Bate Dudley, afterward Sir Henry. This 
criticism was highly favourable. 



260 RECORDS OF MY LIFE, 

Mr. Lewis, with whom I had long the pleasure of being acquainted^ 
in a conversation which I once had with him, declared that he 
prided himself on having clearly distinguished his mode of acting 
parts in the old comedies, such as Archer, Ranger, &c., and the 
wild characters in modern plays, such as those introduced by 
O'KeefFe, and followed in the comedies of Reynolds and Morton, — 
characters that show a lively invention in all of those authors, but 
are very different from those of Wycherlc}^, Congreve, and Vanbrugh, 
■whose characters, though highly coloured, were yet drawn from life. 
Still, however, from observation of Mr. Lewis's acting, I cannot but 
think that, whatever his merit might be in what may be styled the 
legitimate characters of the elder dramatists, he was chiefly successful 
in the wild sketches of the writers of a later date. His Mercutio 
was excellent, and I have heard it warmly praised by the late Mr. 
John Kemble, who was always liberal where praise was justly due, 
but not otherwise. 

Mr. Lewis, like King, abounded in anecdotes, which he related 
without hesitation, and with great humour, particularly such a& 
involved Irish humour and manners. My late friend Mr. Cooke, an 
Irishman, told me that nothing could be more exact than Mr. Lev/is's 
representation of the bucks and bloods of Dublin, who were of a 
gayer yet more determined order than those who formerly distin- 
guished themselves in London, but were nearly extinct when I first 
began to regard the passing world, and the magistracy was more 
regularly settled. We now, indeed, never hear of such riotous ad« 
venturers and enemies of watchmen, as those who existed about the 
middle, or perhaps earlier part, of the reign of George the Third. 

Mr. Lewis, though so active and spirited in the representation of 
the eccentric parts of modern comedy, was polite in his mannerSj 
and peaceable in his disposition, but ready to support his character 
with the most determined courage, if occasion required, of which 
instances occurred which it is not necessary to mention. He was 
social, but not too convivial, or inclined to dissipation, as, indeed, 
was fully evinced by the large fortune which he bequeathed to his 
family. He was a kind husband and father, and possessed a very 
intelligent and amiable wife, whose memory, as well as that of her 
husband, I hold in sincere regard. He was not so zealous an ad- 
mirer of Garrick as I expected from his general taste and judgment ; 
but the Irish in general were partial to their countrymen, Barry and 
Mossop. 

Mr. Lewis, indeed, was a native of Wales, but was taken so early 
to Dublin by his mother, who had married a second husband, that he 
naturally imbibed all the native peculiarities of the Irish taste. He 
made it a point, however, to become acquainted with the great British 
" Roscius," and told me that he found Mr. Garrick kind, attentive, 
and confidential. 

Mr. Lewis observed that he had seen the mechanical parts of act- 
ing, such as pushing the chair in Don Felix, in order to be reconciled 



WILLIAM LEWIS — BIBB THE ENGRAVER. 261 

to Violante, Archer combing the wig, and actions of a similar de- 
scription in other comic plays, executed with more address than by 
Garrick ; but he candidly acknowledged that he ascribed the inven- 
tion and introduction of them wholly to him, and added that Garrick's 
tragedy was irresistible, though he did not think altogether superior 
to what he had witnessed in Barry and Mossop. 

1 have often dined in company with Mr. Lewis, at the hospitable 
table of the late Mr. Harris, the proprietor of Covent Garden 
theatre ; and his gay and spirited anecdotes rendered him an admir- 
able companion. He was, therefore, essentially different in private 
life from his great predecessor Woodward, v/bo, though so brisk and 
animated on the stage, was always silent and reserved, if not satur- 
nine, in company. One of Mr. Lewis's sons reached the rank of 
colonel in the service of the Honourable East India Company; 
another went upon the stage ; and the youngest is at present the 
respectable proprietor and manager of the Liverpool theatre. Mr. 
Lewis had also three amiable daughters, one of whom he had the 
misfortune to lose during his life. His widow survived him some 
years, and died sincerely regretted by all who were acquainted with 
her. The two remaining daughters live under the affectionate pro- 
tection of their brother at Liverpool. 

There are several portraits of Mr. Lewis, but the best is a whole- 
length, the size of Ufe, in the character of the Marquis, in the farce 
of " The Midnight Hour," painted by Mr. Shee, the royal academi- 
cian, now Sir Arthur Shee, and president of the academy, which is 
not only an admirable characteristic likeness, but a work of great 
professional excellence. 

One of the last original characters which Lewis performed was 
Jeremy Diddler, in the humorous farce of "Raising the Wind." 
The farce was brought forward on a Saturday night, and on that 
very night died the person who was justl)'' considered the hero of the 
piece : this was no other than Bibb, a well-known character at that 
time, who accompanied Shuter in his expedition to Paris to win a 
wager. Though the person in question was not a theatrical per- 
former, yet he was so much connected with theatrical performers^, 
and acted so singular a part in the drama of life, that I may not im- 
properly introduce him on the present occasion. He was the son of 
a respectable sword-cutler in Great Newport-street. The father 
was a grave and prudent man, who gave his son a good education, 
and afterward articled him to an engraver. Bibb practised the art 
some years, and I remember a print which he engraved, representing 
the interior of the Pantheon, in Oxford-street. 

Bibb's print was not a work of high professional skill, but, from 
the number of the figures, and the large size of the plate, displayed 
more industry than could have been expected from a character that 
was afterward marked by idleness and dissipation. I knew him very 
early in life, and occasionally saw him until near his death. He was 
much iaclined to garauig, and took me once to a hazard-table in 

MS 



262 RECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

Gerrard-street, Soho, where I saw Dr. Luzato, an Italian physician, 
who visited my father, and was a very agreeable and intelligent man. 
Baddeley, the actor, was also there. A dispute arose between Bad- 
deley and the doctor, which was likely to terminate seriously, but 
the rest of the assembly interposed, lest the character of the house 
should be called in question, and their nocturnal orgies suppressed. 
The house went under the name of the Royal Larder, which was 
merely a cover to conceal its real purpose, that of a place for the 
meeting of gamesters. 

I was very young at the time, and being ignorant of the game, I 
had not courage to engage at the hazard-table. It was a meeting of 
a very inferior kind, for a shilling was admitted as a stake. I had a 
very few shillings in my pocket, which Bibb borrowed of me as the 
box came round to him, and lost every time. The house was kept 
by a man named Nelson, who afterward v/as landlord of the George 
Inn, opposite to Wyche-street, in Drury-lane. I shall have occasion 
to mention this man again. 

How Bibb supported himself, having relinquished engraving, it 
would be difficult to conceive, if he had not levied taxes upon all 
whom he knew, insomuch that besides his title of Count, he acquired 
that of " Half-crown Bibb," by which appellation he was generally 
distinguished ; and according to a rough, and, perhaps, fanciful 
estimate, he had borrowed at least 2000/. in half-crowns. 

I remember to have met him on the day Vv'hen the death of Dr. 
Johnson was announced in the newspapers; and expressing my regret 
at the loss of so great a man, Bibb interrupted me, and spoke of him 
as a man of no genius, whose mind contained nothing but the lumber 
of learning. I was modestly beginning a panegyric upon the doctor, 
when he again interrupted me with, " Oh ! never mind that old 
blockhead. Have you such a thing as ninepence about you ?" 
Luckily for him I had a little more. 

There was something so whimsical in this incident, that I men- 
tioned it to some friends, and that and others of the same kind 
doubtless induced Mr. Kenny to make him the hero of his diverting 
farce, called " Raising the Wind," already mentioned. Another 
circumstance of a similar nature was told me by Mr, Morton, v/hose 
dramatic works are deservedly popular. He told me that Bibb met 
Jiim one day after the successful performance of one of his plays, 
and, concluding that a prosperous author must have plenty of cash, 
«<;ommenced his solicitation accordingly, and ventured to ask him for 
Abe loan of a whole crown. Morton assured him that he had no more 
silver than three shillings and sixpence. Bibb readily accepted them, 
o( course, but said on parting, " Remember I intended to borrow a 
crown, so you owe me eighteen-pence." This stroke of humour 
induced Morton to regret that Bibb had left himt his debtor. 

Bibb, in his latter days, devised a good scheme to raise the gup- 
plies. He hired a large room for the reception of company once a 
^eek; which he paid for only for the day. He then, with the con- 



BIBB TETE ENGRAVBR. 26S 

sent of his friends, provided a handsome dinner, for which the guests 
paid their due proportion. There can be little doubt that many- 
extraordinary characters assembled on these occasions. He told 
me his plan, and requested I would be one of the party. I promised 
I would attend, and regret that I was prevented, as so motley an 
assemblage must have afforded abundant amusement. 

Bibb's father, knowing the disposition of his son, left him au 
annuity, v/hich v/as to be paid at the rate of two guineas a week, 
and which never was to be advanced beyond that sum. This was, 
however, probably dissipated the next day, and, when expended, he 
used to apply to his sister, a very amiable young lady, who was mar- 
ried to a respectable merchant. Having been tired by frequent 
applications, the husband would not let him enter the door. Bibb 
then seated himself on the steps, and passengers seeing a man de- 
cently dressed in that situation, naturally stopped, and at length a 
crowd was collected. The gentleman, then desirous of getting rid 
of a crowd, and probably in compliance with the desire of his wife, 
found it necessary to submit to her brother's requisition. 

When I first became acquainted with Bibb, he had the manners 
of a gentleman with easy gayety, having recently returned from 
travelling, as companion to a person of fortune. His conversation 
\vas enlivened with humour, and, perhaps, I might add with wit ; but 
as he gradually departed from genteel society, and associated chiefly 
with gamblers, if not sharpers, his manners proportionably degen- 
erated, and once sitting nearly opposite to him at a public dinner, 
having received a ticket from one of my friends, I was surprised to 
observe that all Bibb said was accompanied by nods, winks, and by 
thrusting his tongue into his cheek. I could hardly believe that I had 
remembered him with a pleasing vivacity and well-bred manners. 

Nothing could subdue the spirit of his character, for he would 
make a joke of those necessities under which others would repine, 
droop, and despair. His death was fortunate at the period when it 
happened, for it not only relieved him in old age from probable 
infirmities, which, if they had confined him at home, would doubtless 
have deprived him of all resources of an eleemosynary nature, but 
would have reduced him to absolute starvation. It was also, as I 
have before observed, fortunate, for he escaped the mortification of 
seeing his character brought upon the stage. The public journals 
of the Monday after his death were full of anecdotes of his extraor- 
dinary life. I may fairly add, that if he had been a man of fortune^ 
with his talents, promptitude, and humour, he might have made a 
very respectable figure in life, and have been a useful member of 
society. 

There are doubtless many in this metropolis who lead a life of 
expediency, like Bibb, but few who can support their difficulties with 
such fortitude and cheerfulness as he did, or who, like him, can sport 
with fortune, and submit to live by degrading sapplications, while 
cautiously avoiding to incur the severities of law. 



RECORDS OF MT LIVE. 



CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

Mr. Thomas Davies. This gentleman was many years on the 
stage, but left it partly because he never was able to obtain much 
theatrical reputation, though chiefly because he was a victim to the 
severity of Churchill in his " Rosciad," 

I once had an opportunity of seeing Davies act, long after he had 
left the stage, when a benefit was given to him at Drury-lane thea- 
tre ; but whether during the management of Garrick., I do not recol- 
lect, though I believe it was granted by him. The play was " The 
Way of the World," and Davies was announced in the part of Fain- 
all. There was a dull gravity in his acting, and his voice had a rum- 
bling tone. It was, therefore, evident, that Churchill was hardly too 
severe in his criticism ; but, as Davies was a scholar, a man of taste» 
and bore an honest character, the churlish poet ought to have passed 
over him entirely, or have been less severe. What part Davies had 
taken in politics, or v/hat "pZofs" he had been concerned in, it is 
now impossible to know ; but as Davies v/as a stanch whig, hisf 
political principles could not have been different from those of the 
satirist. Long after the death of Churchill, Davies published his Life 
of Garrick, and at a later period gave three volumes of Dramatic 
Miscellanies to the world. In the latter work he, as often as occa- 
sion admitted, certainly manifested his political principles, but by no- 
means inconsistent with rational loyalty. 

His Life of Garrick is very creditable to his critical knowledge,, 
and he generally appreciates the powers of the great actor with can- 
dour and judgment; though at times, he certainly, by preferring others 
to him in some parts, seems to pay court to theatrical merits extant 
at the time when his work was published. The same courtesy ap- 
pears also in his Dramatic Miscellanies, but in general the work 
evinces the taste of a critic, and the learning of a scholar. It is 
evident that he must have been a very diffusive reader, and he suc- 
cessfully applies what he has read to the subject before him. He 
sometimes, however, speaks as confidently of the merits of actors 
who existed before his time as if he had actually v/itnessed their 
performances, though it is evident that he could only judge from 
written records, or personal information. The anecdotes which he 
introduces are amusing and appropriate, but sometimes his interpre- 
tation of difficult passages is too conjectural, and his emendatory 
criticism by no means satisfactory. Yet he differs modestly from the 
opinions of higher authorities, and is never confident in maintaining 
his own. He speaks with respect of Mr. G. Steevens as a commen- 
tator, but seems to have had a very indifferent opinion of his moral 
character. 



TOM DAVIES. 

The following extract from Mr. Davies's third volume presents 
Mr. Steevens in so unfavourable a point of view, that as that gentle- 
man will always retain a high reputation for his literary merits, I may 
properly introduce it as one among many rumours of the same des- 
cription that were in circulation during his life, and were by those 
who knew him generally credited. 

" Mr. Steevens,'' says Davies, " in addition to his large note (on 
a particular passage in Hamlet), assures us that there was more illib- 
eral private abuse, and peevish satire, published in the reigns of 
Queen Elizabeth and King James the First, than in any other age 
except the present. This is not very clear to me ; but happy is the 
man who can, with a good conscience, affirm lie never was guilty of 
the base practice of wounding the fair reputation of others, or of dis- 
turbing the peace of families by malicious and rancorous slander,.- 
The propagation of obloquy, to gain wealth and preferment, may 
admit of some exculpation ; but of all abuse, that which is sponta- 
neous and unprovoked is the most unaccountable. What does Mr. 
Steevens think of a gentleman who, when at his country-seat, found 
no amusement so pleasing as writing libels upon his neighbours, and 
throwing them over the garden walls, with the malignant design to 
torment those who had never offended him 1" 

The charge implied in this question I had often heard urged against 
Mr. Steevens long before I read this passage in Mr, Davies's v/ork ; 
and in corroboration of it, I shall insert what I heard from my late 
friend Arthur Murphy, whose dramatic works will always keep pos- 
session of the stage. Mr. Murphy said that he had been some time 
out of town after the successful exhibition of one of his plays, but i 
do not recollect which. On his return to town Mr. Steevens called 
on him, and in the course of conversation asked if he had seen a 
severe attack on his play, in the St. James's Chronicle. Murphy 
said he had not. In a day or two after Mr. Steevens called on him 
again, and, referring to the same article, asked him if he had not ^een 
it. Mr. Murphy asked him how long ago the article had appeared ; 
Steevens told him about a fortnight. " Why, then," said Murphy^ 
" would you have me search for it in the Jakes, where only it now 
can probably be found ?" There was something of apparent disap- 
pointment in the manner of Steevens, and it struck Mr. Murphy that 
he was probably the author. He, therefore, excused himself for 
putting an end to the interview then, pretending that he had some 
papers to examine ; and as soon as Steevens had departed, Mr. Mur- 
phy set off post to the office of " The St. James's Chronicle,'' and 
requested to see the manuscript of the article in question. The late 
Mr. Baldwin obligiBgly complied, and Mr. Murphy found that it Avas 
in the handwriting of Steevens. Steevens denied that it was his 
handwriting, and by mutual consent the matter was referred to the 
decision of Dr. Johnson. Mr. Murphy submitted his proofs to the 
doctor, and Mr. Steevens attempted a defence, but the doctor deemed 



266 RECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

it so unsatisfactory, that all he said on the occasion was, that Mr. 
Steevens must hereafter " lead the life of an outlaw." 

The late Mr. Kemble told me, upon the authority of Mr. Malone, 
that when Mr. Steevens called, during the doctor's last illness, to in- 
quire how he was, the black servant went and told the doctor that 
Mr. Steevens waited below. " Where is he ?" said the doctor. " On 
the outside of the street-door," was the answer. " The best place 
for him," was the reply. 

Mr. Steevens was accused of having treated his friend Mr. George 
Keate, a gentleman whose literary works are honourable to his talents, 
in the same manner with respect to one of those works, as he had 
acted towards Mr. Murphy's play. 

Mr. Steevens was very intimate with Mr. Isaac Reed, a gentleman 
whose memory must be held in respect for his moral character, as 
well as for his literary attainments. Mr, Reed saw Mr. Steevens's 
last edition of "Shakspeare" through the press, and Mr. Steevens was 
accustomed to call at six in the morning for the proofs, which Mr.' 
Reed laid at the door of his chambers in Staple Inn every night, that 
he might not be disturbed at so early an hour. Mr. Reed's venera- 
tion for Shakspeare, and desire to oblige his friend, induced him to 
be assiduous and punctual. 

The following anecdote is told as a proof of the gratitude of 
Steevens. It is said that he employed a woman of the town, of some 
education and talents, to place herself at the door of Mr. Reed's 
chambers, and tell a pitiable tale of her distress and of the misfortunes 
which she had suffered. When Mr. Reed came home, she acted her 
part so well that he was strongly interested, and, as she said she was 
without a home, he offered her money to procure a bed where she 
could find one. In pursuance of the instructions which she had re- 
ceived, she said she was ignorant of that part of the town, and too 
weak to go to any other. Mr. Reed had but one bed, but rather than 
expose the poor woman to the necessity of wandering through the 
streets at a late hour, he actually resigned his bed to her, and slept at 
a neighbouring coffee-house. 

This despicable trick of Mr. Steevens, by which he intended to try 
the virtue of Mr. Reed, and perhaps afterward to disgrace him by 
promulgating the incident, which he doubtless hoped would have had 
a different termination, only proved the humanity of Mr. Reed, and 
the malignant character of his pretended friend. 

To return to Mr. Davies. I became acquainted with him soon 
after the death of Dr. Johnson ; and having seen what I had written in 
a public journal in honour of the memory of the doctor, he treated 
me with more attention than I cculd reasonably have expected, con- 
sidering the difference of our ages, for he was then very much ad- 
vanced in hfe. There is one passage in the second volume of his 
Miscellanies, which I wish he had omitted, as it is illiberal in itself, 
and inconsistent with his general estimation of the character of Mr. 
Garrick. 



TOM DAVIES. 267 

It seems that Mr. Colman had suggested to Mr. Garrick the pro- 
priety of reviving some of those dramatic vs^orks, in v/hich Burbage, 
Taylor, and Betterton had distinguished themselves. " And here," 
said Mr. Davies, " I doubt somebody might hint, it were to be wished 
that Mr, Colman had not employed the names of those celebrated 
old comedians as a powerful charm to prevail on Garrick to grant his 
request, who never wished to hear the name of any actor but one." 
Mr. Davies has here unwarily inserted a compliment to Mr. Garrick, 
rather than a sa;casm on him ; for it implies that Mr. Garrick had 
not much confidence in the superiority of his powers, since he feared 
to be brought in comparison with those who had lived upwards of a 
hundred years before him, and two of them nearly tv^'ice that number. 

In another part of his work, he observes that Garrick had no por- 
traits but of himself in his house. They were, perhaps, presents from 
the several artists. Garrick never professed to be a collector of 
pictures, or a connoisseur in painting, though he had many valuable 
works of art, most of which were probably presented to him as tri- 
butes to his extraordinary talents. Mr. Davies, in his account of 
Congreve, has fallen into a mistake, where he says that Henrietta 
Duchess of Marlborough was so attached to him, that, after his death, 
she had a statue of him which was placed on her table at dinner, and 
that she addressed it as if alive. According to the information of Dr. 
Monsey, who was family physician to the Earl of Godolphin, the lady 
in question was the daughter of Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, who 
was married to the Earl of Godolpliin. 

Mr. Davies afforded a proof of the difficulty of combining two pro- 
fessions with success. His literary talents and learning would prob- 
ably have raised him into independence as an author, or have procured 
the patronage of some distinguished person ; or if he had contented 
bimselfwith being merely a bookseller and publisher of the works of 
others, he alight have acquired a large fortune, like many others in 
that business ; but, carrying on both employments, he became embar- 
rassed, and I believe died in a state of insolvency. His " very pretty 
wife," as Churchill calls her, I saw when I called on her husband. 
She was plain but neat in her attire, and in face and person exhibited 
the remains of beauty that justified the poet's panegyric. She had a 
meek, dejected look, probably resulting from the situation of her 
husband, and the recollections of better days. She had been an 
actress of respectable,but not distinguished talents, and maintained an 
unimpeachable character through life. I regret to add, that after all 
her moral and professional merits, 1 have heard she ended her days 
in a workhouse soine years after the death of her husband. 

It is impossible for me to state this melancholy fact without deeply 
lamenting the vicissitudes of fortune. Here we behold an amiable 
and accomplished woman, who would have been an example and an 
ornament to her sex in any condition of life, fall a victim to adversity, 
not arising from any want of prudence, and sink unknown into the 
grave ; on the other hand we see a female profligate enjoy all the 



268 RECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

luxuries of life, and at her death honoured with a splendid funeraTj 
and a pompous monument, bearing an inscription celebrating qualities 
moral and intellectual, wholly without foundation. Both of these 
events have happened v/ithin my knowledge, and probably within 
that of innumerable others. 

Mr. John Palmer. I was very well acquainted with this actor, 
who in his proper sphere was one of the best I ever knew. He 
possessed a fine person, and an expressive face. His voice was pow- 
erful and of a good tone. Though comedy was his forte, he could 
perform the tyrannical parts of tragedy with great effect. He was 
calculated for all those parts in which King excelled, such as bucks, 
bloods, impudent footmen, &c. He particularly excelled in the 
delivery of sarcasm and irony, as was evident in his Sneer in the 
farce of " The Critic." I have seen him perform both Brass and 
Dick in " The Confederacy," and he was equally excellent in both. 
When he performed a serious character, but not of the high tragic 
kind, such as Villeroy in the tragedy of " Isabella," he was elegant 
and impressive. His Stukely in " The Gamester" was excellent. 
Indeed I once heard Mrs. Siddons, and who could estimate theatri- 
cal merit with more judgment ? once say, " Wlien shall we see such 
a Villeroy and Stukely again ?" He was not an educated man, but 
possessed a natural discernment, and seemed to be led by instinct to 
the characters most fit for his talents ; but when he assumed the 
higher parts of tragedy, which required intellectual powers of no 
ordinary description, he was not successful ; and for the same reason 
his Falstaff did not add to his reputation. In convivial characters he 
was justly admired, particularly Sir Toby in " Twelfth Night." A& 
a general actor I have never seen his superior. 

Though capable of giving full effect to comic parts, he took no part 
in conversation ; yet he was very attentive to what passed, and proved 
by his manner that he not only understood fully the wit and humour 
of others, but enjoyed them. I have seen him in company with the 
present Mr. Colman, and could not but observe the ingenuity with 
which he varied his dumb-show admiration of the facetious sallies of 
that gentleman's inexhaustible vivacity. He was a well-bred man, 
but carried his courtesy to such an excess as to excite a suspicion of 
its sincerity. When he opened the Royalty theatre, the patentees of 
Covent Garden naturally appealed to the magistracy to suppress it. 
My old and esteemed friend Mr. Const was the counsel engaged by 
the patentees ; and the performers at the Royalty theatre were all 
taken into custody, but were released at the intercession of Mr» 
Palmer, upon a promise that they would appear at an appointed place 
next morning at twelve o'clock. The magistrates and Mr. Const 
were punctual. Mr. Palmer attended soon after, but without the rest 
of the performers. Mr. Const expressed his surprise that, after his 
solemn promise of bringing the other performers, they had not attended. 
Mr. Palmer's answer was, " I know your heart," meaning of course 
that Mr. Const was too humane to adopt any harsh measures towards 
them. Mr. Const renewed his requisition for their appearance, but. 



JOHN PALMER — JOHN EEMBLE. 



26©^ 



received the same compliment on his benevolence. At length, finding 
Mr. Const was firmly determined that they should appear, Mr. Palmer 
left the room, apparently to fetch them. The magistrates, however,,, 
remained an hour or more, and then thinking it was in vain to expect 
Mr. Palmer or the performers, they broke up the meeting, but found, 
on attempting to quit the room, that he had locked tlie door upon 
them. And here I may mention an extraordinary change in the con- 
dition of an individual. 

When Mr. Colman the elder closed the door of Covent Garden 
theatre upon his partners, Biessrs. Harris and Rutherford, a journey- 
man carpenter, named Hyde, was employed by those gentlemen to 
force a passage into the house ; and in the attempt to stop the Royalty 
theatre, the same man, then Justice Hyde, was the most active magis» 
trate engaged on the occasion, and on a business the reverse of his 
former employment. I was present with Mr. Arthur Murphy in the 
lower gallery of the Royalty theatre on its first opening. We could 
not obtain any other place. Mr. Palmer spoke an occasional address, 
which, from the attention which Mr. Murphy paid to it, 1 told him I 
suspected to be his composition. He confessed it was, but bade me 
be cautious, for he was then on friendly terms with the patentees, and 
knew of course that he was supporting an illegal measure. 

The Rev. William Jackson was to have been a partner of the Roy- 
alty theatre, if it could have obtained a legal toleration for perform- 
ances. Jackson was a powerful writer, and supported the claims ot 
Mr. Palmer, but the theatre never obtained a legal sanction in his time. 
When Palmer, after this attempt to establish a new theatre, found 
his way back to Drury-lane theatre, he appeared to be all contritions- 
humility, and self-reproach before Mr. Sheridan, just as he acted the 
part of Joseph Surface in " The School for Scandal ;" but in the midst 
of his professions of repentance, Mr. Sheridan stopped him with the 
utmost good-humour, and only said, " Palmer, you forget that I wrote 
the character." Indeed Palmer's general habit was so much in the 
manner of Joseph Surface, that it might have tempted the author to- 
design the character for him. 



CHAPTER XXXIX. 

Mr. John Kemble. Having already said so much of this gentle- 
man in a former part of the present work, I have little to add respect- 
ing him. His Hamlet, which made an unfavourable impression on 
me when I saw him perform it on the first night of his appearance in 
London, was so much improved by reflection and practice, that it 
really presented a model of theatrical excellence, and probably never 
will be exceeded in correct conception and dignified deportment. Hiss 
Coriolanus was a masterpiece. He often paid me the compliment of 



270 , REconns op my tifE. 

consulting me on any passage of Shakspeare that appeared doubtfuilj 
and would listen with great attention to any opinion that differed from 
his own ; and I do not recollect any occasion on which 1 had not 
reason to assent to his explanation of the text. But I never knew 
any person who was more ready to attend to the suggestions of others. 
He often desired that I would let him know where I did not approve 
of his acting ; and his manner was so open and sincere, that I did not 
scruple to give my opinion, even to such a master of his art, and so 
acute a critic. He never spared pains to ascertain the meaning of 
what he or anybody thought doubtful. 

I remember once, in compliance with his request, I told him I 
thought that in one passage of " Hamlet," Garrick as well as himself, 
and all other actors, were wrong in delivering it. The passage was 
where Horatio tells Hamlet that he came to see his father's funeral, 
and Hamlet says it was rather to see his mother's marriage, when 
Horatio observes " it followed hard upon." Hamlet replies, 

Thrift, thrift, Horatio, the funeral baked meats 
Did coldly furnish forth the marriage table. 

I observed that this passage was always giveriftn anger, whereas in 
my opinion it ought to be delivered with ironical praise. He imme- 
diately took down a Polyglot Dictionary, and examined the derivation 
and accepted meaning of the word thrift in all the languages, and 
finding that it was always given in a commendatory sense, he thanked 
me, and always after gave the passage in the manner I had suggested. 

I ventured to point out other alterations in " Hamlet" which it might 
appear vain in me to mention. Suffice it to say, that in hearing them 
he said, " Now, Taylor, I have copied the part of Hamlet forty times, 
and you have obliged me to consider and copy it once more." This 
is a proof of the labour and study which he devoted to his profession. 
It is but justice to the rest of his family, as well as to himself, to say 
they were all so perfect in their parts that the prompter never was 
appealed to in their acting. 

Though Mr. Kemble was of a jocular temper, and laughed as 
heartily in company as any person I ever knew, he was certainly not 
born to be a votary of Thalia in characters of a very lively and facetious 
description. When he assumed the part of Charles in " The School 
for Scandal," I believe he did so to please Mr. Sheridan, who was 
always alive and anxious respecting his own dramatic compositions. 

In the evening which I passed with him and Mr. Richardson at the 
Bedford Coffee-house, though he admitted Mr. Garrick to be probably 
the greatest actor that ever existed, yet, referring to the play of 
" Pizarro," of which he seemed to be as proud as he had reason to be 
of his original works, he observed that he thought Garrick could not 
have performed Rolla so well as Kemble. This opinion may be con- 
sidered as a sort of parental bigotry, from which even the highest 
minds are not exempt. 

Kemble at one period of his life was certainly rather inclined to 



JOMN KEMBLE — MR. HULL. S71 

the bottle, and under its influence was induced to be a little frolick- 
some, as will appear from some anecdotes which I have before related. 

On the first representation of " The Mountaineers" at the Hay- 
market theatre, I met him in the green-room at the end of the play, 
"when he had performed the part of Octavian, and he asked me to 
take a glass with him at Mrs. Stephen Kemble's, who lodged in the 
Haymarkef, and who was sister to my first wife. I objected, ob- 
serving I was afraid he would keep me up too late. He said I need 
not be afraid, for that he lived at Turnham Green, to which he must 
go that night, and as the play succeeded, and was likely to have a 
long run, and he had a fatiguing part in it, he required rest too much 
to keep late hours. I consented, but was actually kept by him till 
seven in the morning. His carriage had been waiting at the door 
all the time, and he then offered to carry me home to Hatton Garden ; 
I however declined the offer. 

He was very desirous that I should introduce him to my friend 
William GifFord, whom he highly respected, not only for his learning 
and poetical talents, but as the shrewdest and most intelligent of all 
the editors of dramatic authors. I settled an evening with Mr. Gif- 
ford, and went with Mr. Kemble at the time appointed. They had 
all the talk to themselves, and seemed to be highly gratified with each 
other. Mr. Kemble offered him the free use of his library, if he thought 
it would assist him in his illustration of Ben Jonson, whose works 
Mr. Gifford was then preparing for publication. Mr. GifTord availed 
himself of this offer, and all the books he wanted were immediately 
sent to him, and were carefully returned. 

Mr. Gifford afterward expressed much regret that a line unfavour- 
able to Mr. Kemble had appeared in his poem of "The Baviad," but 
said that as a new edition of that poem was preparing for the press, 
he would take care to expunge the offensive passage. He did so, yet 
when I suggested to him that it would be proper to expunge another 
passage in the same poem, unfavourable to my friend Mr. Jerningham, 
he said that the copy-right not being his own, he could not presume 
to gut a work that belonged to another. Gifford kept up an amicable 
intercourse with Kemble so long as the latter lived, and spoke of his 
death with sincere regret. 

Mr. Hull the actor. With this actor I was very intimate, and 
held him in great respect. He was deservedly esteemed by the whole 
of the theatrical community. He was in the medical profession be- 
fore he adopted that of an actor, but in what rank I never knew. He 
was generally styled Doctor by the performers. As he had a strong 
lisp, it is strange he should have ventured on the stage ; but he prob- 
ably depended on his good sense and knowledge. He was an actor 
of great judgment and feeling, and his merit in Friar Lawrence was 
universally acknowledged ; and in this character his lisp was even an 
advantage. He was a man of learning, and possessed litei'ary talents. 
He wrote a tragedy entitled " Fair Rosamond," published two volumes 
of poems by subscription, and I had the pleasure of being one of his 
subscribers. He also published " Letters" to a lady who had been 



272 RECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

his pupil, and whom he afterward married. This lady appeared upon 
the stage in the character of Paulina in " The Winter's Tale." At 
the time I knew them, they were advanced into the " vale of years,'" 
and were a perfect Darby and Joan. She often came behind the 
scenes, to admire and animate her husband, long after she had left 
the stage. It was gratifying to observe the attention which they paid 
to each other at their advanced period of life. This attention was 
often a subject of mirth to the lively actors, but was always respected 
by those of a graver kind, because it was evidently the effect of long 
and rooted attachment. 

I remember one night seeing them both behind the scenes, when 
they came merely from curiosity, as Hull did not act on that occasion. 
He was just going to take a pinch of snuff, when she said, " Try mine, 
my dear." " I will, my love," he replied, and in his manner displayed 
the endearment of a youthful lover. Yet there was nothing ludicrous 
in the gallantry of this aged pair. The actors of his own rank, in his 
time, were obviously so much below him in knowledge and under- 
standing, that he rated himself somewhat high, but not proudly, in 
comparison with them. 

I never saw Mrs. Hull act, nor know what characters she per- 
formed besides Paulina, but it was said that on one occasion, at the 
end of the performance, he came to her, and said, " My dear, you 
played like an angel to-night ;" and then turning a httle aside, said to 
himself, " and for that matter, so did I, too." On the publication 
of his poems, I wrote a few stanzas in praise of them, and sent the 
manuscript to his wife, and afterward introduced them into a news- 
paper. From respect to his memory, I have since inserted them in 
my volumes. Soon after the lady received my verses, she called on 
me to express her gratitude, and told me that she had copied them 
fifteen times, to present them to ladies who were friends of her 
husband. 

Mr. Hull was for a few years the stage-manager of Covent Garden 
theatre, and in that capacity, as well as for his good sense, was 
always required to address the audience when any thing particular- 
had occurred. A ludicrous circumstance happened during the time 
that mobs paraded the streets at night when Adnural Keppel had 
been acquitted of the charges brought against him by Sir Hugh Pal- 
liser. Mr. FIull lived in a corner of Martlett's Court, Bow-street, 
at the time. One of these mobs came before his door and called 
for beer. He ordered his servant to supply them, till a barrel which he 
happened to have in his house v/as exhausted ; and soon after another 
mob came with the same demand, and did not depart without doing 
mischief. A third mob came, and clamorously demanded the same 
refreshment. Mr. Hull then addressed them, with theatrical for- 
mality, in the following terms : " Ladies and gentlemen, one of my 
barrels has been drunk out, and one has been let out ; there are no 
more in the house, and therefore we hope for your usual indulgence 
on these occasions." 



MR. HULL — GENTLEMAN SMITH. 273 

Mr. Hull deserves the perpetual gratitude of the theatrical com- 
munity, as he was the original founder of that benevolent institution 
<" The Theatrical Fund," which secures a provision for the aged and 
infirm of either sex, who are no longer capable of appearing with 
propriety before the public. That he was really the founder admits 
of no dispute ; and therefore, as I have attended many anniversary 
dinners in honour of the institution, I have been astonished that no 
tribute to his memory has been ever offered on the occasion. 

Mr. Hull survived his wife some years. He appointed Mrs. 
Richards, the wife of Mr. Richards, an em/ment scene-painter to 
Covent Garden theatre, as his executrix ; and at her desire, as well 
as from respect to the memory of Mr. Hull, I wrote the following 
lines on his death. 

EPITAPH 

Oti the late Thomas Hull, Esq., founder of the Theatrical Fund. 

Hull, long respected in the scenic art, 

On life's great stage sustained a virtuous part ; 

And some memorial of his zeal to show 

For his lov'd art, and shelter age from wo, 

He form'd that noble Fund which guards his name, 

Embalm'd by gratitude — enshrin'd by fame. 

This epitaph is inscribed on his tombstone in the Abbey church- 
yard, Westminster. He held in the greatest esteem his (riend Sijen- 
fitone, the poet, to whose memory he dedicated his tragedy. 

Mr. Hull was the author of several Oratorios, founded on scrip- 
tural subjects, which were adapted to music, and performed at the 
theatres. Mrs. Richards l^indly presented to me some observations 
on "Paradise Lost," which Mr. Hull received from Shenstone's 
liiece : they are in the poet's haiidvvritinf?, and were written in the 
twenty- first year of his age, probably while he was at Pembroke 
College, Oxford. What is somewhat odd, he concludes with the 
following v/ords : 

" Milton had no ear, that's poz." 

This little tract is now in my possession: the handwriting resembles 
that of Pope, It is my opinion, and was the opinion of Dr. Wolcot, 
that if Shenstone had written nothing but " The Schoolmistress,'' he 
would have been entitled to a high rank among the British poets. 

Mr. William Smith. This gentleman, who was generally dis- 
tinguished by the appellation of " Gentleman Smith," 1 had not the 
pleasure of knowing till many years after he had retired from the 
stage. I had been applied to by Mr. Hill, a gentleman well known 
in the literary circles of the metropolis, who was then the proprietor 
of a respectable literary and theatrical repository, entitled " The 
Montl.ly Mirror," now no longer in existence, to . procure a bio- 
graphical sketch of Mr, Smith. Mr. Smith I had been accustomed 
to see perform in my early days, and was a warm admirer of his 
acting. I had been present when he took leave of the stage, and 
was in a private box at Drury-lane theatre with Madame Mara. 



274 RECORDS OF MT LlFB. 

On entering the stasje, to deliver his farewell to the audience, he 
was received with a universal burst of applause, which was repeated, 
and continued for several minutes. His address was brief but em- 
phatic, and delivered with a manly dignity and fervid expression of 
gratitude, that powerfully operated on the audience. At one time 
the applause was so great that I thought it was likely to subdue his 
firmness ; but he paused for a moment, and then resumed his speech 
with all the manly buoyancy of his character. 

The substance of his address was to say, that he was fully impressed 
with a sense of the kindness which he had so long experienced fron^ 
the public, and to assure the audience, that though many might be 
more worthy of their favour, none could exceed him in zeal in their 
service. Madame Mara was deeply affected by this speech, and I 
heartily sympathized in her emotions. 

Many years after he retired from the stage, he %vas induced to quit 
his retreat at St. Edmund's Bury, and to revisit London for the pur- 
pose of performing Charles, in "The School for Scandal," for the 
benefit of his old friend King. I passed him in the street a day or 
two before the performance took place, and could but feel pleasure 
in seeing how little his person had been altered by time. There was 
the same easy and manly gait, though less of that spirited and careless 
buoyancy, which had marked his earlier years. He seemed to walk 
with a kind of philosophic indifference to the things around him, and 
in so unafiected a manner, that he probably passed unnoticed by 
those who did not know his person, except from his gentlemanly 
appearance. There was something in his manner, and in the intel- 
ligence in his face, which induced me, even on this casual glance, to 
regret that I had not the pleasure of being acquainted with him. 

It was impossible for me to miss his perlormance, and I joined 
with my friend the celebrated Mrs. Robinson in taking a box suffi- 
cient for herself, her daughter, one of her female friends, and myself, 
in the lower range of boxes level with the pit. I shall not attempt 
to describe the tumultuous reception which he experienced from as 
large an audience as it was possible for the theatre to contain, when 
the curtain was withdrawn and presented him at the convivial table. 
It was repeatedly renewed, and he came forward and bowed to the 
audience. Never, perhaps, on any occasion, did an individual in any 
station receive more hearty demonstrations of public esteem and ap- 
probation. It is sufficient to add, that there was no abatement of 
his spirit and humour in his performance of the character, or of his 
corporeal activity. 

In the last scene of the play, when Lady Teazle happened to drop 
her fan, there was a race among the male performers to pick it up 
and present it to her, but Mr. Smith got the start of them all, and 
delivered it to her with such unaffected ease and elegance, that the 
audience were struck with the incident, and strongly expressed their 
applause. 

This fine display of comic genius, which confirmed the impressions 



GENTLEMAN SMITH, 275 

that his acting made upon me in my early days, induced me to write 
an account of it the same night for a daily newspaper entitled " The 
True Briton," of which I was then a proprietor ; and Mr. Smith was 
so well satisfied with it, that he sent his thanks to the editor, de- 
claring that he thought it one of "the brightfst eulogiums he had 
received during his theatrical career," and added a copy of the verses 
written by himself, and which he had delivered at the end of the play. 
The original letter, after his death, I presented to his amiable widow, 
who is still living, I hope, in good health at Bury St. Edmund's, with 
her venerable sisters. 

I took a copy of this letter for the gratification of my own pride, 
but it was unluckily lost upon the sudden and unexpected removal of 
my papers from the Sun office in the Strand. 

To resume the subject of his biography. Urged by Mr. Hill, and 
encouraged by Mr. Powell of Drury-lane theatre, who had been pat- 
ronized by Mr. Smith and recommended by him to that theatre, 1 
ventured to apply to Mr. Smith for a sketch of his public life, and 
endeavoured to excuse the liberty by acknowledging myself the 
author of the account of his performance for the benefit of Mr. King, 
with which he had declared himself to have been so much gratified. 
I received a very kind ansv/er, in which he promised to give me the 
sketch I had requested. In a day or two after I received a brief 
account of his education, his residence at Cambridge university, and 
the general course of his theatrical life. The very next day, how- 
ever, I received a letter from him, earnestly entreating me to send his 
manuscript back by return of post, alleging that on reflection he 
could not be guilty of the vanity of supposing that any of his profes- 
sional or private concerns could possibly be worthy of record, and 
interesting to the world at large. I therefore contented myself with 
reading the manuscript, which was well and modestly written, and 
returned it by post the same day, though not without reluctance, as 
it would really have been a very interesting memoir of a gentleman, 
a scholar, and an actor, who was long and deservedly a favourite with 
the public. 

But tliough my application to Mr. Smith for some memorial of his 
professional life was unsuccessful, it was productive of a corres- 
pondence which lasted some years ; and I have between twenty and 
thirty letters from him, all written with the spirit which animated his 
public and private character. They also manifest his critical judg- 
ment, candour, and taste, as well as his classical attainments. There 
does not appear the least trace of envy towards any of the actors 
who were his contemporaries, but on the contrary a liberal tribute 
to their professional merit, particularly to Mr. Garrick, of whom he 
takes every opportunity of speaking with enthusiasm ; though he is 
so candid in expressing his opinion of Barry as to say, that in some 
scones he was equal to Garrick, and in love scenes even superior 
to him. 



276 RECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

Mr. Smith must be considered as a competent judge, and he was 
also an excellent actor. In one of his letters he says, that Mr. Gar- 
rick was so perfect in evfery character he represented as to be wholly 
absorbed in the assumption of it. 

In another of his letters he says, " Garrick, with all natural graces 
and perfections, must ever in my now decaying- judgment stand alone 

< The front of Jove himself.' Among the chief blessings of my life 

I ever held the greatest to be that I was bred at Eton, and born in 
the days of Garrick." Such is the opinion of an actor who was a 
kind of competitor of Garrick ; and such was the opinion of all the 
most judicious men with whom I ever was acquainted, who were 
deeply conversant with human nature and the stage. 

Mr. Smith's repugnance to all biographical records, and even to 
all posthumous memorials, increased with age and his further expe- 
rience of the vanity of life, for he exacted a promise from his amiable 
lady that nothing of the kind should be published on his decease; 
and he was buried with so little pomp and ceremony, that there is no 
stone or any other indication to mark the spot where his remains are 
Interred. 

My late friend Jesse Foot, in his Life of Arthur Murphy, thus re- 
lates the opinion of the latter : " Whenever he spoke of Mr. Smith's 
merits as an actor, he never failed to add, that he was not only a 
gentleman himself^ but always gave a gentlemanly character to his 
profession." Mr. Smith was a constant fieqtienter of Newmarket 
course from his early life, and almost to the close of his very ad- 
vanced age. He had formed high connexions at college, and added 
lo them considerably at Newmarket. I never heard that he engaged 
in betting, and conclude that he went chiefly to enjoy the sport, and 
to meet those noble friends whom he retained through life. 

Among his earliest and firmest friends was the late Sir George 
Beaumont, a gentleman of whose merits and accomplishments it is 
difficult for panegyric to exaggerate. This excellent baronet was 
not only a sound crhic on the fine arts, but also an admirable artist. 
He was some time a pupil of Wilson, the celebrated landscape painter, 
and purchased many of his best works, some of v/hich he liberally 
presented to the National Gallery. Sir George retained his attach- 
ment to Mr. Smith till the close of his life ; and a ftw years before 
his death, engaged Mr. Jackson, the royal academician, to take a 
journey to Bury in order to paint a portrait of him when he was 
turned of eighty years of age. Sir George had a portrait of him 
painted at the age of forty. A print from the last portrait by Jackson 
was well executed, and much valued by his friends. It expressed aa 
intelligent and discerning spirit, that time could not subdue. 

On Mr. Smith's last visit to the metropolis, he resided at the hotel 
in King-street, Covent Garden. In a day or two after he arrived, he 
sent a note to me, telling me that, if I could call on him at eleven the 
following morning, we might chat for half an hour, but not more, as 



GENTLEMAN SMITH. 377 

lie expected Sir George Beaumont to call and take him in his car- 
riage to see some of his old friends, particularly Lord Mulgrave- and 
General Phipps. I was on the point of going to him when he came 
to the Sun office on foot, for fear, as he said, that some mistake had 
arisen ; and for about a quarter of an hour conversed with us, and dis- 
played all his original animation. I regret that I was prevented from 
calling on him at the hotel, for then I should probably have been in- 
troduced to Mrs. Smith, whom I have never seen, as they were too 
much engaged in a round of visits for me to have a chance of another 
interview. 

In the evening of that day I met him again in the green-room of 
Drury-lane theatre, still under the zealous convoy of Sir George 
Beaumoi;)t, who seemed to be delighted to see the respect which the 
veteran received from the performers, who thronged round him, and 
were all emulous to testify their esteem and veneration. 

On his return to Bury, he resumed his correspondence with me, 
and continued it until a very short time before his decease ; even his; 
very last letters were characterized by his usual vivacity and vigour. 
His attachment to Newmarket began early, and he visited the course 
till his bodily strength was nearly exhausted, and he could go no 
longer. It is understood that in his engagements with the London 
manager, he always reserved a right to visit Newmarket at the usual 
seasons, probably with a proportionable reduction of his salary. 

Sir George Beaumont told me that Mr. Smith prided himself on 
never having, during the whole of his theatrical life, blacked his face 
or descended through a trap-door. Of course he never performed 
Othello, Oroonoko, or Zanga, though he would doubtless have ren- 
dered ample justice to those characters. Churchill says of him— 

Smith, the genteel, the airy and the smart, 
Smith has just gone to school to say his part ; 

from which it may be inferred that the poet thought he chiefly ex- 
celled in comedy ; and the epithets which the bard has apphed to him, 
prove that in his opinion he performed his comic parts with all re- 
quisite ease and gayety. Indeed, to Ross, who was his contemporary 
for a long period at Covent Garden theatre, the chief characters in 
tragedy were assigned ; and Ross, though so sprightly in private life, 
was too heavy, and sometimes too sluggish for the comic muse. 

As the reader may probably be gratified in seeing a specimen of 
his poetical powers, I shall insert the following lines, which I received 
in one of his letters, but not till I had repeatedly requested something 
of that description. 

LINES 
Written after passing the evening with afrie7id in the Temj)l€, 1780. 
Last night as with my friend I sat, 
Methought I cared no more for fate 

Than fate might care for me ; 
In gayety and easy chat, 
We smiled at this and laugh'd at that. 
With hearts brim-full of glee. 



278 RECORDS OF MY LIPB. 

Cheerly the minutes danced away. 
Till twilight oped the dawn of day, 

Yet free from care's dull power ; 
We heeded not the watchman's knock, 
Nor ask'd our spirits what's o'clock. 

Nor mark'd the vulgar hour. 

But Prudence whisper'd we must part, 
Though bright each eye, alive each heart. 

For all was ■weU.iviihin; 
Yet parting check'd our present bliss, 
We both shook hands and join'd in this, 

That daylight proved a sin.''' 

" So," adds he in his letter, " the withered yellow leaf is dropping from 
the bough, and leaves no trace behind." 

I received from him also a translation of an ode of Horace, and 
also of a passage in Juvenal, which fully evinced his taste and scholar- 
ship, but I thought an original effusion of his pen would be more ac- 
ceptable. I sincerely regret that I did not know him at an early 
period, as I am convinced his manly spirit and philosophic indifference 
to the ordinary cares of life would have corrected a despondency to- 
which I have always been subject, though 1 have constantly prevented 
it from appearing in company. 

Before Smith's retirement from the stage, a number of gentlemen, 
friends of his and admirers of the drama, who formed what was styled 
" The Phoenix Club," of which he was a member, presented to him 
an elegant and valuable cup, which he found at his house on his return 
from the theatre, with the following inscription : — 

To William Smith, Esq. 
On his reliremenl from the stage. 
They knew him well, Horatio. 

Feeling the highest veneration for the memory of Garrick, in which 
I am supported by the testimony of Mr. Const and other friends who 
had more opportunities of judging of his merit, particularly Sir George 
Beaumont, who was a good actor himself, I shall cite a few passages 
from the letters of Mr. Smith. "We may safely rate Garrick," he 
says, " 

Omnium Histrionum facile princeps, 

and in my humble opinion this was the least part of his excellencCo. 
As a man I admired, loved, and honoured him— his nierits were great,^ 
his benevolence and generosity, though by some disputed, were, to 
my certain knowledge, diffusive and abundant. In bargains, perhaps, 
he was keen, but punctual. Fiat justitia !" 

" As to Garrick, my utmost ambition as an actor was to be thought 
worthy to hold up his train." 

" Of Garrick and Barry, where love was the burthen or rather sup- 

* Comus. 



GENTLEMAN SMITHc 279- 

port of the scene, Barry was at least equal to Roscius. Romeo, Cas- 
talio, Othello, Varaves, and JafRer were his own. In the more com- 
manding passions, where the brain forced its workings through the 
magic powers of the eye, Mr. Garrick was beyond comparison in 
every thing ; but Barry next to him. Allowing each his merit, I have 
thought for nearly seventy years, all that were eminent were plants 
of Garrick's rearing under his own fostering hand in his own garden, 
and Nature the designer. My embers will a little warm when I think 
of his departed spirit." 

"Of Mr. Garrick, whom I first saw and admired at Goodman's Fields, 
in the year 1740, I can never speak but with idolatry, and have ever 
looked upon it as one graat blessing in my life to have lived in the days 
of Qarrick." 

I could quote many more passages from Mr. Smith's letters, in 
which he expresses his enthusiastic admiration of Garrick, but as they 
have all the same tenor and substance, it is needless to add to the 
subject. 

As far as I can recollect, Mr. Smith was principally distinguished 
for his Hamlet, Richard, and Macbeth, in tragedy; and Volpone, 
Captain Plume, and Archer, in comedy. I remember I was particu- 
larly struck with the difference in the demeanour of Mr. Smith, and 
*' Honest Tom King," when the latter, just before the dropping of the 
curtain, advanced in the sight of the audience, and with both his hands 
extended to shake those of Smith, as if to thank him for his kindness 
in quitting his retreat, after a long absence, to perform for the benefit 
of an old friend, whose declining fortunes rendered such an exertion 
necessary. King's action on this occasion manifested, amid all the 
warmth of gratitude, the formality of Sir Peter Teazle, while that of 
Smith exhibited the easy freedom and generosity of Charles Surface, 
who seemed to receive all such testimonies as an intrusion upon the 
liberal gayety of his natural disposition. 

I have dwelt the longer upon the subject of Mr. Smith, because I 
consider him as an extraoi'dinary individual. With a character of sin- 
gular animation, and in his early days, while at Cambridge university, 
distinguished by the designation of the " Young Buck of the College," 
ready for any spirited enterprise, he was an attentive student, and 
became an excellent scholar. Though, at the time he entered upon 
the stage, he assumed a profession that was by no means held in such 
respect as it has since acquired, yet he retained all his college con- 
nexions, which consisted of some of the chief nobility of the country. 

It appears to me that he could not have been thrown into any situa- 
tion in life in which he would not have acquitted himself with honour^. 
It never was my good fortune to sit with him at the same table in 
company, but I can readily conceive that conversation must have 
derived its chief spring and stimulus from the buoyancy of his spirit. 
He was always affable to his inferiors in the theatre, but at the same 
time so guarded in manner that he was treated with cautious respect. 

His many letters to me display the same animated character, and 
are generally seasoned with classical quotations, which, till his eighty- 



380 REOonns of my life. 

ninth year, proved that his love and taste for literature continued to 
be one of his unabated attachments. Though I never had the pleas- 
ure of being personally introduced to Mrs. Smith, I have nevertheless 
received several letters from her since the death of her husband, all 
of which are marked by good sense, amiable feeling, conjugal affec- 
tion, and the regret naturally attending so melancholy a deprivation. 



CHAPTER XL. 

Gibson and Ridout. These actors many years ago were proprie- 
tors of the Liverpool theatre. They had previously appeared on the 
London stage, but without any professional distinction ; yet they rose 
to such a high reputation on the Liverpool boards, that they were 
deemed in Liverpool above all competition. The good people of 
Liverpool are, however, so much improved in theatrical taste and 
judgment, that they are not now likely to be gratified except by first- 
rate abilities. 

To prove the high estimation in which Gibson and Ridout were 
held by the better people of Liverpool, on some subject of importance 
to the commercial interests of that place, when several of the princi- 
pal merchants were quitting the town in order to attend the House 
of Commons, as they were setting oif for that purpose, even at the 
door of the coach, they were entreated to go, as soon as they reached 
London, and see Garrick perform, that they might know whether he 
was equal to Gibson and Ridout. The deputies from the town, there- 
fore, as soon as their parliamentary business was settled, went to see 
Garrick. The result of their embassy was, of course, communicated 
to the town before their return, and they arrived at Liverpool a few 
days after. Several of their friends had waited their arrival, and as 
soon as the coach-door was opened, the first question addressed to 
the travellers was, " Well, is Garrick equal to Gibson and Ridout ?" 
The answer was, " Oh ! by no means ; Garrick would be nothing in 
Liverpool, compared with Gibson and Ridout." Such, at that time, 
was the standard of theatrical taste at Liverpool, which now, perhaps, 
may rank with any provincial town, if not with the metropolis itself, 
in a due estimation of theatrical talents. 

Ridout had quitted the London stage long before my time, but of 
Gibson's person I have a faint recollection, as he was some years sta- 
tionary at Covent Garden theatre, and was generally styled King 
Gibson, because he performed Cymbeline, and other heavy old mon- 
archs and courtiers. His person was bulky, and there was a ponder- 
ous sort of nature in his acting which would by no means suit the taste 
of the present times. He was a prudent and good-natured man, and the 
following anecdote is cited as a proof of the kindness of his disposition. 

The inferior actors at that period were careless and dissipated, and 



KING GIBSON ME. WALKEE. 281 

as soon as the business of the night was over, they generally spent the 
remainder of it at low public- houses, which were much frequented in 
consequence of their being the resort of the theatrical fraternity. A 
young man, who had recently been engaged at Covent Garden theatre, 
had come from some provincial company, and was hardly known to 
any of the London actors, conducted himself with such modest diffi- 
dence that he attracted the notice of the veteran Gibson, who one day 
after rehearsal took him aside, and addressed him to the following 
purpose : " Young man, I have observed your modest demeanour, and 
I see with some satisfaction that you are not intimate with the actors ; 
let me advise you, as an old man well acquainted with life, to avoid 
public-houses. When you are no longer required at the theatre, go 
home, study any part that may be assigned to you, take a glass of small- 
beer to refresh yourself before you go to bed, and if it happens to be 
the king's birth-day, or the news of a great victory, or any occasion of 
national joy has occurred, put a little nutmeg and sugar in it." 

I think I was indebted for this ludicrous story to the late Mr. John 
Kemble. It is by all accounts characteristic of the economical wisdom 
of King Gibson, Since the time of the Liverpool managers above 
mentioned, the Liverpool stage has been in the hands of many emi- 
nent performers, the last of whom was the late excellent comic actor 
Mr. Lewis. His son now possesses it, and conducts it with such judg- 
ment and propriety as fully to maintain the reputation which it had 
acquired under the management of his estimabla father. 

Stephen Kemble, who was an accurate observer of human life, 
and an able delineator of character and manners, was so intelligent 
and humorous a companion, that he was received with respect into 
the best company in the several provincial towns, which he occasionally 
visited in the exercise of his profession. This favourable reception 
is the more honourable to his character and conduct, because the 
theatrical tribe are held in very little respect in the provinces. The 
following instance, while it is a proof of *J^<^ respect in which he was 
held, is a proo^ "^"^^ of tn-^ indifibrence, bordering on contempt, with 
which country actors are treated. 

He once told me, that while he was walking in a town in Ireland 
with the mayor, who honoured him with his arm, one of the inferior 
actors bowed to the magistrate with the most obsequious humility, but 
did not attract any notice. The man then ran before them, and at 
another convenient spot repeated his humiliating obeisance. Still, 
however, he was passed without observation. Again he ran to a 
place where he thought he was more likely to draw attention, but 
was equally unsuccessful. Anxious to testify his respect forthe mayor, 
he tried again at another convenient point, manifesting, if possible, a 
more obsequious courtesy. At length the obduracy of the mayor 
softened, though not subdued in pride ; he turned his head to look at 
the persevering actor, but without even a nod of recognition, and 
hastily uttered, " I see you, I see you," which the poor actor con- 
sidered as an act of gracious condescension. 

Mr. Walker, the author of " The Pronouncing Dictionary," and 



S82 REConcs op my life. 

other useful and valuable works, I knew and held in great esteem for 
his talents, attainments, and moral worth. He was a firm, I had almost 
said a bigoted Roman Catholic, but, as religion operated more upon 
his conduct than upon his opinions, he ought to be .exempted from 
such an epithet. He had been an actor in the earlier part of his life, 
but not rising to any distinction, he quitted the stage, became a teacher 
>of elocution, in which he was very successful, and, with his various 
publications, was enabled to live very respectably, and at his death to 
leave property to the amount of about 5000/. He was a tall man, 
and the print prefixed to his dictionary is a strong likeness. 

I once asked him why he left the stage, and he modestly answered 
that it was because he was conscious he could never attain an eminent 
station. I told him I had heard he was famous for his performance 
of Downright. " Ah ! sir," said he, " the public were too kind to me 
in that respect, but I think time and experience would enable me to 
perform it much better," He spoke of Garrick with warm admira- 
tion, and was stored with anecdotes of the old performers of his time, 
which he related with precision, if not with much humour. 

My late friend Mr. Cooke, the barrister, assured me, that Walker 
was not a Latin scholar ; but his dictionary is so elaborate, displays 
such unwearied research, and is marked by such apparently learned 
illustrations, that I am persuaded he must have been mistaken. Mr. 
Walker's wife was an actress, highly respected for her comic talents, 
and I was informed by those who knew her well, that besides being a 
very respectable woman, her intelligence and humour in private life 
rendered her a very instructive and agreeable companion.' 

Mr. Walker was highly esteemed by the late Mr. John Kemble, by 
whom I was first introduced to him, and Mr. Walker estimated no 
less the character of Mr. Kemble. 

QuiN the actor. He was a remarkable instance of elevation frdm 
a low station in tko London theatre to the highest rank in his pro- 
fession, before the appearar^^o of Garrick. I remember to have seen 
his name among the dramatis personcn in rioUoy i^it^kn^'c nlteratioj* 
of Shakspeare's Richard the Third, where he was rated for the part 
of Lieutenant of the Tower. His first start into notice was when he 
was announced to attempt the part of Cato, on the death of Booth, 
the celebrated representative of the character. Yet I was assured 
by Mr. Ross, that Quin at last acquired such an ascendency over the 
audience, that he took great liberties with them ; and on one occasion, 
when he was performing the part of Zanga, and a drunken man dis- 
turbed the pit, he came forward, and said, " Turn that fellow out, or 
by G — I won't go on." The man was accordingly turned out, and 
Quin resumed his part. 

Mr. Donaldson, who had seen him perform, told me, that nothing 
could be more ludicrous than when Quin and Mrs. Pritchard, two per- 
sons in advanced hfe, and of very bulky forms, performed the charac- 
ters of Chamont and Monimia. Quin's declaration. 

Two unhappy orphans, alas I we are, ^ 



^trm. 283 

though nothing could be more ludicrous, excited no feelings of ridicule, 
both were such good performers, and such favourites with the public. 
Mr. Donaldson further told me there was so much dignity in the 
person of Quin, that if a foreigner had seen him in the drawing- 
room at court, he would have taken him for the prime minister. 

Quin was, at first, hostile to Garrick, but at length acknowledged 
his extraordinary genius, which old Gibber never would. As is well 
known, he was proud of making everybody in company insensibly 
drunk. On one occasion there Viras a parson in company, who, as he 
had been told, was more than a match for the hardest bacchanalian ; 
Quin was therefore ambitious of conquering the parson. All the 
company were soon overcome with wine, and lay senseless on the 
floor ; Quin was as senseless as the rest, for he had fallen asleep, but 
still retained his seat. When he waked, he looked with triumph on 
his prostrate companions, and was anxious to find the parson among 
them, but in vain ; he therefore concluded that the poor man had. 
been taken ill and carried to bed. " But," said Quin, " it was a fine 
summer morning, and, to my extreme mortification, I saw the parson, 
through the window, bathing his head before a pump, and a shining 
steam arising from it, like a glory over the head of an apostle." 

A gentleman of Bath, very little and very dull, was extremely fond 
of being with Quin, and once, when the latter was going to ride in a 
carriage, begged to accompany him. " No," said Quin, " you are too 
dull." But as the little gentleman was importunate — " Well," said 
Quin, " get in, for if any accident happens you will serve as a linch- 
pin." 

Quin was accustomed to attend Epsom races, and the landlady of 
one of the inns, who held him in the highest esteem, always took care 
to secure a bed for him. On one occasion, however, at a very busy 
season, she forgot him ; and being unable to procure abed for him in 
the town, she asked if he would be content to share a bed with a clergy- 
man who had kindly oflTered him that accommodation. " Well, dame,'* 
said Quin, " I'll lie in the same bed with the parson, if you'll promise 
that he will not give me the itch." Quin entered the bed first, and 
observing, as the parson followed him, that his shirt was dirty, he ex- 
claimed, " What ! parson, are you coming to bed in your cassock ?" 

Quin was not fond of the clergy, whom he generally stigmatized asi 
hypocrites. Happening one day to dine at the house of a clergyman 
at Bath, where all the rest of the company were of the same pro- 
fession, the master of the house apologized for not having the dinner 
ready in due time, alleging that his old turnspit had thought proper to 
absent himself, and he had been obliged to have persons that ill sup- 
plied his place. The conversation after dinner chiefly related to the 
value of certain livings, and as to what the several incumbents paid 
their curates ; till at length Quin was tired, and signified that he would 
■take his evening walk. As he was leaving the passage, the old turn- 
spit returned from his excursion, hanging his head, and creeping in as 
if conscious of guilt. Quin, as he passed, gave him a slight blow 



384 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

on the head, saying — " Ah ! damn you, what, you must keep a curate 
too !" 

Dining one day at a public ordinary, where was a sort of struggle 
to get at the dishes, Quin said, " Gentlemen, if ever I dine at an ordi- 
nary again, I will have basket-handled knives." 

On a similar occasion, when one of the company had helped 
himself to a very large piece of bread, Quin stretched out his hand 
to take hold of it. The person to whom it belonged prevented him^ 
saying, " Sir, that is my bread." " I beg your pardon," said Quin^ 
" I took it for the loaf." 

Another time, at dinner, a gentleman had taken upon his plate a 
large quantity of pudding, and said, " Mr. Quin, let me recommend 
this pudding to you." " With all my heart," said Quin, looking at 
the gentleman's plate, and then at the dish, *' but which is the pud- 
ding ?" This anecdote I heard from Mr. Sheridan. 

Quin, in order to give weight to particular passages, was apt to 
pause too long. ¥/hen he once performed Horatio in " The Fair 
Penitent," and was challenged by Lothario to meet him the following 
morning, " A mile among the rocks," Quin paused so long before he 
said, " I'll meet thee there," that a man in the gallery bawled out, — 
" Why don't you give the gentleman an answer, whether you will or 
no." 

Quin was once annoyed by a very effeminate coxcomb in a 
coffee-room at Bath, who looked at him steadily, and observing that 
Quin frowned on him, he asked the waiter, in a whisper — " Who is 
that man ?" Quin, who heard him, roared out to the waiter — " Who 

is that thing ?" " Sir Edward S 's son,'' said the waiter. " You 

lie, you dog," said Quin, " it is his daughter'' 

Theophilus Cibber once vehemently attacked Quin in a coffee- 
room, accusing him of having said that he knew him when he had 
not any shirts to his back. " I beg your pardon, sir," said he, " you 
have been misinformed :" and when Cibber thought he ought to be 
satisfied with the denial, Quin added : " I said I knew you when yoR 
had not a shirt to your back." 

Theophilus Cibber was by no means wanting in abilities or humour. 
He had ill-formed legs, and having projected one of them in company, 
which was noticed with a laugh, he offered to lay a wager that there 
was a worse in company ; and it being accepted, he put forward his 
other leg, which was indeed more ill-shaped than the other. 

Quin was once invited by Mrs. Clive to stay a few days with her 
at Strawberry Hill. Having walked round her garden, she asked 
him if he had seen her pond, a small piece of water. " Yes, Kate," 
said he, " I have seen your basin, but did not see a washball." 

It is a common practice with affectionate mothers to have their 
children brought down after dinner, that they may show their talents: 
to the company. On an occasion of this kind, when Quin had been 
annoyed by the spouting of Master Jacky and the singing of Miss 
Anna Maria, he was heard to grumble to himself: " Oh, the injured 
memory of Herod !" 



QUIN, MRS. HALLA.M, MK. INCE, AND MRS. CLIVE. 265 

When determined to pay a visit to Plymouth for the chief purpose 
of eating John-dory, a friend wrote to the landlord of the principal 
inn, desiring him to show all possible attention to Mr. Quin,to procure 
him the best claret, and to promote his comfort by all the means in 
his power. The landlord, proud of his guest, soon after Quin's 
arrival, offered him the use of his horse to procure a good appetite. 
Quin accepted the offer ; but as the horse was a very hard trotter, 
when the landlord asked him if he would have him next day — " No, 
landlord," said he, *' when I want my bottom kicked again, I will hire 
a porter." 

Mrs. Hailam, the aunt of the late Mrs. Mattocks, was an actress at 
Covent Garden theatre during the time of Quin. At this period a 
pantomime was then at the height of its popularity, and one of the 
most successful sights was Harlequin jumping through a cask. Mrs. 
Hailam was a very large woman. As the cask was in requisition 
every night, it remained behind the scenes; and Quin happening to 
stumble against it, exclaimed : " Why don't you take away Mrs. 
Hallam's staysJ' 

I had this story from Mrs. Mattocks, who said her aunt told her 
that she had been a good actress in her day ; but, said Mrs. M., 
I had no other authority. AVhen Quin was once delivering the speech 
of Jaques in " As You like It," describing the seven ages, an effeminate 
man, who performed Amicus, regardless of the speech, sat upon the 
very edge of the bench in the banquet scene, and overturned it, fall- 
ing himself on the ground. Quin, turning indignantly on the pros- 
trate coxcomb, exclaimed : " Damn it, madam, can't you sit on your 
side-saddle." I derived this anecdote also from Mrs. Mattocks, who 
was a good actress and a sprightly woman. 

The husband of Mrs. Clive was a barrister, a very learned and 
inteUigent man, by all accounts, but without practice in his profes- 
sion ; he was therefore invited to become the domestic companion of 
Mr. Ince, a gentleman of fortune, and reputed to be the Templar in 
the club of the Spectator. Mr. Ince was well known to be a fre- 
quent contributor to that admirable periodical work. My old friend, 
the Rev. Richard Penneck, of the British Museum, knew Mr. Ince, 
and told me that he retained the practice, as mentioned in the Spec- 
tator, of visiting the play-house almost every evening, as long as his 
health and age would admit. 

It seems strange that Horace Walpole, a man of learning and ele- 
gant taste, should have been so much attached to Mrs. Clive, whose 
manners were rough and vulgar ; particularly as after her death he 
transferred his partiality to one of the accomplished Miss Berrys, and 
offered to marry her, that he might leave her a fortune and a title. 
Mrs. Clive's person exempted her from temptation, and her character 
was unimpeached ; but though she was well acquainted with the 
world, it is hardly to be supposed that she could be adequately sup- 
plied with conversation for such a scholar, and man of taste, as 
Horace Walpole. On her death, he wrote a poetical epitaph upon 
her, in which he said that Corned v died with Clive. In consequence 

N3 



286 RECORDS OF MY LI]PE. 

of this panegyric, Dr. Wolcot wrote the following lines, which are 
not printed in his works. 

Horace, of Strawberry Hill I mean, not Rome, 
Lo ! all thy geese are swans, I do presume ; 

Truth and thy verses seem not to agree : 
Know, Comedy is hearty, all alive ! 
The comic Muse no more expired with Clive 

Than dame Humility v/ill die with thee. 

My late worthy old friend, Mr. George Nicol of Pall Mall, told 
me, that while he was on a visit to Horace Walpole, soon after Mr. 
Gifford's Bseviad was published, Walpole, then Lord Orford, said, it 
was " quite refreshing to find such a work amid all the sickening 
trash which was pouring upon the world under the name of poetry." 



CHAPTER XLl. 

Mes. Siddons. It might well be thought strange, if, after having 
begun with noticing Garrick, in my observations on theatrical per- 
formers, I should omit so great an actress as Mrs. Siddons. He was 
certainly the greatest actor, in my opinion, that I have ever seen ; 
and Mrs. Siddons the greatest tragic actress. But her merits are so 
well known, and so widely and justly admired, that it would be a sort 
of presumption in me to attempt to add to the fame which she has so 
deservedly acquired. 

Mrs. Yates and Mrs. Crawford, when the latter was Mrs. Barry, 
were the greatest female ornaments of the stage that I had ever wit- 
nessed previously to the appearance of Mrs. Siddons ; and I feel 
disposed to say no more than that she possessed all the dignity of 
the former and all the tenderness of the latter. Mrs, Barry, indeed, 
was also a comic actress of no ordinary powers, and her perform- 
ance of Rosalind, in "As You like It," was in my humble estimation 
one of the most perfect personations ever exhibited on the stage. 

Mrs. Siddons seems to me to have been born for tragedy. I have 
seen her in Rosalind, and though nothing could be more correct than 
her conception of the character, or more graceful and dignified where 
the princess is to appear, yet in the lighter scenes of the part it was 
impossible for her to throw off that pensive disposition which seemed 
to pervade her nature. I have had the pleasure of being intimate 
with her for many years, and was not only favoured with her friend- 
ship, but with her epistolary correspondence during her occasional 
absence from town, and I retain many of her letters, with which 
even her request would not induce me to part. 

I think I may venture to say, that 1 studied her character as atten- 
fevely as she ever did any character which she represented with such 



MRS. SIDDONS. 28'? 

superior ability on the stage. Her mind is lofty, and her sentiments are 
always dignified or tender. She would have been capable of sus- 
taining with appropriate merit in real life any of the highest female 
characters which she has assumed in her profession. Thus much I 
say upon ample observation and full conviction ; and I consider any 
contrary opinions that may have prevailed against her, at any time, 
as the result of mahce and envy of her professional excellence, and 
the reputation and prosperity which have attended it. 

I shall now drop a subject to which I cannot do justice, and men- 
tion a circumstance that I hope she will excuse me for relating, as it 
shows the uncertainty of friendship, and the caution which is neces- 
sary in forming such a connexion. I called on her one morning, 
when I found her in the act of burning some letters of her own 
which had been returned to her by the executor of the gentleman to 
whom they had been addressed. As I sat nearer to the fire, she 
handed them to me, as she read them in succession, to thro^T into it. 
As I was going to dispose of one in this manner, a printed paper dropped 
out of it, which she must have overlooked. I took it up, and found 
that it consisted of some verses which had appeared in " The St. 
James's Chronicle," and which contained some very severe strictures 
on her character. The name of the subject of this satire was not 
printed, but appeared in manuscript on the top of the lines in the 
handwriting of her deceased correspondent. As no real friend of 
Mrs. Siddons could thus invidiously point out the object, it struck me, 
as I had heard the departed person was a poet, that he had attacked 
>her at one time for the purpose of insidiously defending her at 
another. She seemed to be surprised and shocked at this discovery, 
and I then ventured to ask her if her departed friend had ever, like 
Stukely in the play, endeavoured to excite her jealousy against Mr. 
-Siddons. After a short pause, she said she remembered he had once 
hinted to her that Mr. Siddons had a mistress at Chelsea. The 
mystery then seemed to be revealed, and the design of the writer 
developed, as Mrs. Siddons was at that time in the fulness of her 
personal beauty. I left her in a state of consternation, and called on 
her in the evening, when I found her father and mother, to whom 
the matter had been communicated ; but they testified no surprise, and 
said they had never liked the man, and thought that he had some 
wicked purpose in view. This anecdote cannot be , uninteresting, 
as it illustrates human nature, and relates to a distinguished and 
meritorious individual. 

I must here pay a short tribute to the memory of Mr. Siddons, 
whose character I always held in high respect. He was a handsome, 
gentlemanly-looking man, with a good understanding and pleasing 
and affable manners. He also possessed literary talents, and when 
he was the proprietor of Sadler's Wells he wrote many humorous 
songs, which were very popular at that theatre. Mr. Siddons had 
been overshadowed by the great talents of his wife ; but if she had 
only adorned the domestic circle by her virtues and good sense, he 
would then have appeared fully upon an equality with such a partner. 



288 RECORDS OF MY IIFE. 

to all who might have had the pleasure of being acquainted with 
him. Many cheerful hours I have passed with him and the family, 
I was for many years in the habit of dining with Mr. John Kemble 
on Christmas-day, and on old Christmas-day with Mr. Siddons and 
his family, till his declining health obliged him to retire to Bath. It 
ought to be mentioned to the honour of his conjugal character, that 
when a false and malignant insinuation against Mrs. Siddons ap- 
peared in one of the public prints, he publicly offered a thousand 
pounds for the discovery of the anonymous libeller. 

Mr. William Giiford was much attached to Mr. Waldron, whom I 
may properly introduce in this place, as he was an old friend of 
mine, and a very respectable actor. Mr. Waldron perhaps was only 
second to Mr. Isaac Reed in knowledge of dramatic productions of 
the earliest periods. He was a dramatic writer of real talents, and 
the author of several poems in the style of Milton's " L' Allegro." 
He had collected many curious particulars respecting the history of 
the British drama. Mr. Gilford assured me that he had often derived 
much information from the stores collected by Mr. Waldron, and 
sincerely regretted his death, not only as a friend, but as a man 
abounding in valuable knowledge. As Mr. Waldron left two sons,- 
who are both well-educated men, it is surprising that the manuscripts 
of their respectable father have not been presented to the world. 

I met Mr. Waldron, on the publication of Mr. Gifford's edition of 
" Ben Jonson," carrying the nine bulky volumes home through the 
park, so delighted with having had them presented to him by Mr. 
Gilford, as if he thought they could not be safe in any hands but his 
own. Mr. Gifford presented them to me at the same time, but, how- 
ever proud I was of the gift, I ventured to send them home by a 
deputy. 

Mr. Waldron was much respected also by Mr. Kemble. He was 
very lively and facetious in company, and always good-natured and 
well-bred. Soon after the commencement of the West India Docks^, 
a party was formed to view the excavations. My late friend Ad- 
MiUAii SeiiANK, then a captain, was one of the commissioners of the 
Transport Board, and he took us in one of the transport-barges. 

The late Mr. Penneck of the British Museum, Mr. Kemble, my- 
self, and some friends of Captain Schank, were of the party. We 
had a plentiful dinner on board the barge, and passed some pleasant 
hours, after we had farther gratified our curiosity with a peep at the 
arsenal at Woolwich. Before we left the vessel to return home in 
stages, Mr. Kemble said to me, " 1 should be glad to invite Captain • 
Schank to dine with me, but I suppose nothing would induce him to 
sleep out of this vessel ;" and he was surprised when I told him that 
the captain kept a handsome establishment in Leicester-square, and 
a carriage. 

Here I must pause to pay a tribute of respect to my old and 
worthy friend Admiral Schank, who was a true British tar, of a 
hospitable spirit, and manly sincerity. He was married to a very 
amiable and intelligent lady, a sister of Sir William Grant, late 
Master of the Rolls, 



ADMIRAL SCHANK — SUETT. 289 

Admiral Schank had a high reputation in the navy, and was the 
inventor of a vessel named the Wolverine. For some years before 
his death he suffered by a gradual loss of sight, and at last became 
totally blind. He had consulted several surgeons, who told him that 
his disorder was a commencing cataract, and at length he consulted 
me. I told him with much regret that his disorder was not a cata- 
ract, which admitted of relief, but that I feared it would prove a 
gutta-serena. He however went to several parts of the kingdom, 
where persons resided who were reputed to be successful in treating 
disorders of the eye, but in vain ; and after many a fruitless journey 
he said, " I wish I had depended on my friend Taylor's opinion at 
first, for I should then have saved myself from disappointment, and 
the expense of at least three hundred pounds." 

Mr. Kemble, as the manager of. a theatre, conducted himself with 
great kindness towards the performers, and never attempted to exert 
any unfriendly authority. He was always unwilling to deprive an 
actor of any part that he had been accustomed to perform, or to 
oblige him to assume, or continue to perform, a character that did 
not please him. 

He was very intimate with Suett the actor, when he first came to 
London, and they used frequently to ride on horseback together,. 
He deeply lamented the habit of drinking which Suett had acquired 
by associating with the lower performers. He said that Suett had 
been a man of refined sentiments, had an elegant taste, and would 
have remained so if it had not been for that unfortunate habit. 
Suett was a man of good sense, with a kind and benevolent dis- 
position. 

He had a very high opinion of Mr. Kemble, who had desired him 
to send his son to him every morning, and he would hear him read. 
The boy had neglected to go one morning, and Suett, who had a 
quaint formality in his manner, reproached him for having slighted 
the instructions of so great a man, and then added, " If you do not 
attend that great man, I will most certainly withdraw my eye of 
favour from you." 

I attended the funeral of Miss Chapman, of Covent Garden 
theatre. She was a good actress and a sensible woman. Suett had 
known her on the York stage, and had a great friendship for her. A 
little before the mournful cavalcade set out from her apartments in 
James-street, Covent Garden, Suett came to the house in mourning,, 
and begged that he might be permitted to join in paying the last 
tribute of friendship to the departed lady. He was admitted into 
the same coach with me and the other mourners, and showed evident 
proofs of unaffected grief all the way to the grave. 

Suett was capable of performing characters of grave or facetious 
humour, but his element was broad farce. I once passed an evening" 
with him and the elder Bannister, at the house of my friend George 
Colman, in Upper Tichfield-street, and saw him carefully home to 
his lodgings in Martlett's Court, Bow-street, at five in the morning t 
a matter of some difficulty, as he had sacrificed too freely to th© 



^90 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

bottle, and the weather was very bad. But I esteemed the man, 
and was diverted with his odd humour all the way. 

He was much respected by the other performers, most of whom 
attended his burial in St. Paul's church-yard. He was originally a 
chorister in that cathedral, and composed many songs, the words of 
which were written by himself. Both music and words were marked 
by taste and feeling. After his funeral, the actors, who are never 
wanting in waggery, pretended that they heard him say in his coffin, 
^' My dragons, what are you a'ter ?" expressions which he was in the 
habit of using. He would have been in the prime of life, if his 
health had not been injured by his convivial disposition. 

It would be improper to omit here an important incident in the life 
of Mr. Kemble. After the destruction of Covent Garden theatre by 
fire, his friends and the public felt concerned for his loss, as he had 
embarked the whole of his property in that concern. I was walking 
in the Strand, when I heard him call me from his carriage. With a 
tone of exultation he said, " Taylor, have you heard what the Duke 
of Northumberland has done for me V I answered in the negative. 
" Why," he said, " a gentleman waited on me by desire of the duke, 
to express his grace's sincere concern for the melancholy event which 
had occurred, and to signify that, if 10,000/. would be of use to 
me in the present emergency, his grace would order that this sum 
should be advanced to me. I expressed my gratitude as well as my 
surprise at so generous an offer, but desired the gentleman to say 
that as it never could be in my power to repay his grace, I felt myself 
obliged to decline his noble offer. The gentleman called on me 
again to repeat the ofier, and I then said I must still dechne to 
avail myself of his grace's kindness ; for that, so far from being able 
to repay the principal of so large a sum, I did not think it would ever 
be in my power to discharge even the interest. The gentleman took 
this message to his grace, but called on me a third time, to tell me 
that his grace made the offer as an act of friendship, and therefore he 
should never require from me either interest or principal." 

Such was precisely the manner in which Mr. Kemble related this 
magnificent act of the late Duke of Northumberland to me. I 
waited on Mr. Kemble on tlie following Sunday morning, and he 
then related the cause which had operated so generously on the mind 
of the duke. He said that Dr. Raine, then master of the Charter- 
house, called on him one morning, and expressed his wish that he 
would give some lessons to a young nobleman on the art of reading, 
as it was probable the person in question would be a member of 
parliament, and Mr. Kemble of course would be liberally rewarded 
for his trouble. Kemble told the doctor that he had long declined 
to give instructions of that nature, considering them as wholly useless ; 
that if the person had good sense and a good ear, he would want ho 
instruction ; and if not, that instruction would be ineffectual. The 
doctor expressed his regret that Kemble had declined the task, ob- 
serving he came by the desire of the Duke of Northumberland, and 
that Lord Percy was the intended pupil. " Oh !" said Kemble, " if 



JOHN KEMBLE. 291 

it is his grace's desire, I was so much indebted to him at a very 
interesting period of my life, that there is nothing I would not under- 
take to testify my respect and gratitude." He then readily consented 
to receive Lord Percy, and give the best instructions in his power. 
He then related the obligation which he was under to the duke in the 
following manner :— 

"When I was an actor," said he, "in a theatrical company at 
Doncaster, I had written a tragedy, the hero of which was Belisarius ; 
and as the duke, then Lord Percy, was quartered there with his 
regiment, the manager advised me to wait upon his lordship, and 
-request him to suffer some of his men to attend the entrance of 
Belisarius into Rome. He immediately said, when I told him the 
purpose of my visit, that ' he would do any thing to show his respect 
for so great a hero as Belisarius, and that I should have as many men 
as I wanted to do honour to his triumph.' The men accordingly 
attended, the hero appeared in military grandeur, and the play suc- 
ceeded, raising me high in the opinion of the manager at a time when 
his good opinion was of importance to me. Dr. Raine told the duke 
how ready I was to give instructions to Lord Percy, when I knew 
that it was the desire of his grace ; who, hearing what I had said, 
signified that he should not forget my ready compliance with his wish. 
Lord Percy called on me, certainly not twelve times, for such lessons 
as I could give ; and this is the magnificent return," added he, " for 
my poor services." 

It may not be improper to add, that the present duke seems to 
partake of his noble father's feelings towards Mr. Kemble, for he was 
present in the theatre on the night when Mr. Kemble finally took 
leave of the public, and I afterward saw his grace join him in the 
green-room, where a confidential conversation took place between 
them at a distance from the company in general who were present. 

Most of the principal performers of both theatres attended on this 
occasion, to testify their respect for Mr. Kemble, and many of them 
expressed a desire of possessing some part of his theatre apparel, 
and what are styled stage properties, as relics of friendship. He 
gave his sword to one, his cane to another, and distributed all the 
articles connected with the character which he had been performing. 

On his last visit to this country, he called on me, and I saw an evi- 
dent appearance of the decline of his health, particularly on his going 
down stairs, which he appeared to do with difficulty. His brother, 
Mr. Charles Kemble, kindly invited me to dine with him, that I might 
see the last of his brother, who was on the eve of returning to Lau- 
sanne, and not likely ever to revisit this country. Mr. Kemble took 
little part in the general conversation, but seemed to be attentive. 
As he had been accustomed to drink wine, his entire forbearance from 
it probably injured his health, for I remember dining with him not 
long before he quitted the stage, and saying, " Come, Johnny, you 
and I have not had a glass of wine together," and Mrs. Kemble, from 
the opposite end of the table, said, " I am Johnny, and I'll take a 
glass with you, for Mr. Kemble does not drink wine." 



299 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

A friend of mine, who was going to Switzerland, requested that 1 
would give him a letter of introduction to him, and I did so, but oe 
the morning when he was going to present it, he found that Mr. Kem- 
ble was no more. The gentleman sent a letter to me, announcing 
the melancholy event of his death. I communicated the contents ol 
the letter to the public on the day that it reached me in " The Sun" 
evening paper, of which I was then proprietor, and gave the original 
letter to Mr. Charles Kemble. 

I have dwelt upon the memory of Mr. Kemble, because I felt a 
sincere friendship for him, as well as a high respect for his talents, and 
am convinced that he had a kind and benevolent disposition, and was 
fully qualified to render himself conspicuous in any province to 
which he might have devoted his abilities. He was held in the 
highest regard by his immediate relations, and by all his friends who 
knew how to appreciate his character. 

;Mr. Chakles Kemble, who now appears to so much advantage 
on the stage, when he was rather a fine sturdy lad than a young man, 
held an appointment in a government office, but being anxious to go 
upon the stage, he consulted me on the subject. I confess that though 
he was intelligent, and well-educated, there was such a rustic plain- 
ness in his manner, that I did not see any promise of excellence in 
him, and therefore advised him to keep to his situation, which was a 
progressive one, from which I told him that in due time he would be 
able to retire on a comfortable independence. He told me that his 
brother had expressed the same opinion, and had given him the same 
advice. Hence it appeared that Mr. Kemble and myself were bad 
prophets, since his brother Charles has displayed abilities which 
would have done honour to the stage at any period. It may, however^ 
be said that Mr. Kemble, perhaps, saw his brother's talents with eyes 
more discerning than mine, and only discouraged his theatrical bent 
from a conviction of the difficulty and uncertainty of the profession^ 

As Mr. Charles Kemble is at present an ornament of the stage, I 
must speak of him with reserve, lest I might be suspected of the 
meanness of flattery ; but the estimation in which he is held by the 
public would fully justify a warm panegyric on his talents. He was 
rery early in life placed for education at a college in Douay, from 
which he returned with a competent knowledge of the Latin and 
French languages, and since he has been an established performer m 
London, he has, I understand, acquired the Italian and German. 

As an aetor, he is a worthy successor to his brother, particularly ia 
the part of Hamlet ; and to say the least of his performance, in a 
just conception of the author, in animation, variety, and energy, he 
must satisfy the most rigid critic. His deportment in general is easy 
and graceful, without affectation, but naturally flowing from his feel- 
ings. His Romeo also is an admirable specimen of tragic skill ; 
and in most of his performances in the serious drama, he appears to 
great advantage. But with all his merit in tragedy, he seems to be 
more in his element in comic parts. His Charles, in " The School 
for Scandal," is a performance of great spirit and humour, but per- 



MR. AND MRS. C. KEMBLE. 293 

haps his Young Mirable, in " The Inconstant," is his most perfect per- 
sonation. His Archer, in the comedy of " The Stratagem," is also 
highly creditable to his comic powers ; and he has shown the versa- 
tility of his talents by his performance of Friar Tuck and FalstafF, 
though so different from his proper cast. 

His talents, however, are not confined to acting, for he has shown 
literary povt^ers in two dramatic pieces of the serious kind, one en- 
titled " The Point of Honour," founded on a French play ; and the 
other entitled " The Wanderer, or the Rites of Hospitality ;" to 
the last of which I had the pleasure of contributing the prologue^ 
Both of these dramas were successful, and the former is still occasion- 
ally brought forward. 

It would be strange, indeed, if having noticed the husband I did 
not mention the wife. 

Mrs. Charles Kemble had various and strong pretensions to 
public favour while she remained upon the stage. She was an ex- 
cellent comic actress, and a very graceful dancer. She is besides a 
scientific musician, and altogether a well-educated lady. Her acting 
was always marked by a thorough knowledge of th6 character 
which she assumed, and supported with truth, spirit, and energy. 
Her Lucy, in " The Beggar's Opera," was as perfect a performance 
as ever perhaps appeared on the stage. Her knowledge of the 
French language and French manners enabled her not only to per- 
form French characters with powerful effect, but even to repre- 
sent them in old age while she was in the meridian of life, which in- 
deed, she can hardly be said to have now passed. She left the stage 
without taking a formal leave of it, contrary to the practice of prin- 
cipal performers. 

The loss of so deservedly popular an actress must be a subject of 
regret to the public, for she was too great a favourite ever to incur 
an unfavourable reception, except during what was called the O. P» 
riot, which was disgraceful to the public at large, since they suffered 
a handful of obscure ruffians to interrupt the performances, and in- 
jure the theatre for several weeks, by opposing those regulations 
which were calculated to secure a permanent income to the pro- 
prietors, though far below the general measure of their expenses, — ■ 
to bring persons of high rank to the theatre, to render dramatic novel- 
ties more worthy general patronage, and to refine the public taste^ 
Yet, though the proprietors submitted their affairs to the ablest calcu- 
lators, whose character and judgment were unimpeachable, these 
rioters were so resolute and so persevering, that they finally effected 
their purpose. 

The insolence which the performers suffered during this shameless 
storm, and Mrs. Charles Kemble among the rest, might probably 
operate as one of the causes which induced her to retire from the 
stage at a time when she was one of its diief comic ornaments. 

Mrs. Charles Kemble, like her husband, has displayed her literary 
powers in an afterpiece, entitled " Personation," in which she appeared 
in the disguise of an aged French-woman, with admirable humour^ 



1294 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

and in a successful comedy, entitled " Smiles and Tears," to which I 
had again the pleasure of contributing a prologue. 

DoDD was an actor whom I knew. He was an admirable repre- 
sentative of the fops in the old comedies, and also of old men. His , 
Sir Andrew, in " Twelfth Night," was a performance of such charac- 
teristic merit as to demand the suffrages of critical judgment. He ,] 
was also a pleasing, though not a professed singer. His Acres, in ij. 
" The Rivals," Sir Benjamin Backbite, in " The School for Scandal," ' 
and Dangle, in " The Critic," were all good specimens of comic 
humour. He lived with an actress, who came forward in youth with i|i 
talents and accomplishments, but whose profligate conduct at last.;* 
wholly deprived her of public favour. During her connexion with il 
Dodd, she ensnared his son, a mere youth, into a similar intercourse, , 
and while this detestable conduct was generally rumoured, she hadl 
the confidence to appear upon the stage again, and received strong ; 
marks of public disapprobation. She had the hardihood to come 
forward, and say that the audience had a right to censure her per- 
formance, but none to interfere with her private conduct. 

She was, however, tolerated again, but her powers were decayed, .1 
and when I saw her, her voice was harsh, her manner formal, and 
she seemed to me to be destitute of spirit and humour. What be- 1 
came of her, or whether she is alive, is hardly known, for she sunk ; 
into obscurity. 

Dodd was a great collector of old plays, and of the warlike instru- 
ments of the American tribes of warriors. He was an agreeable, if I 
not a very intelligent companion, and for his social qualities was? 
generally designated Jemmy Dodd. He had numerous connexions; 
among the higher order of citizens, who always patronised his bene- | 
fits very liberally. He supported an aged father w^ith filial affection, ., 
and gave a good education to his son, who was a respectable member; 
of the church, and has been dead many years. 



CHAPTER XLH. 

Madame Mara. I was introduced to this great singer by my late 
friend Salomon, the celebrated performer on the violin, about the^' 
year 1785. I had become acquainted with him some years before.] 
It is well known that in her youth she had been in this country, and ' 
supported herself by singing and performing on the guitar. She had; 
been many years abroad, and had cultivated her musical talents witht 
such success, that when she came to London, at the time I was first; 
acquainted with her, she had brought with her the reputation of] 
being the first female singer in Europe. She was immediately 1 
■engaged for all the great concerts in London, and for the music-meet- 
ings in the chief country places. 



MADAME MARA. 295 

Having in early life acquired the English language, she retained it, 
ind had almost as great a command of it as any native, except that 
he pronounced some words with a foreign accent. When she first 
ippeared as a singer at Berlin, hearing that she was a native of Ger- 
nany, Frederick the Great refused to witness her powers, alleging 
hat she was a German, and therefore could not possibly be a good 
inger. At length, however, he was persuaded to hear her, and when 
he concert was over he approached her, and asked if she could sing 
t sight. She answered in the affirmative, on which he took a piece 
f manuscript music from his pocket, and asked her if she could sing 
tiat. She told me that it was the most difficult piece she had ever 
let with, but looking over it for a few minutes she told him that she 
ould. " Do then," said the king. She complied, and from that 
loment his prejudice was at an end, and she became a favourite, 
•ecoming however tired of remaining at Berlin, knowing that her 
ime had extended to various parts of Europe, where her presence 
ras anxiously desired, and very inviting engagements having been 
ffered her, she asked permission to visit Italy on account of her 
ealth. The king, however, would not suffer her to depart. 

She had a large and very favourite harpsichord, or pianoforte, and 
le king, who had set a watch over her, believed that while that re- 
gained in Berlin he was secure of her. She was therefore obliged 
) resort to artifice to effect her escape. She sent the instrument to 
e repaired, but ordered that instead of being returned to her abode, 
3 soon as the work was done it should be forwarded to Vienna, 
i^hen she had reason to believe it was secure from capture, she and 
er husband secretly followed it with all expedition. The wary 
'rederick was soon apprized of their escape, and despatched a mes- 
^nger immediately to Joseph the Second, then Emperor of Ger- 
lany, desiring that he would arrest them. The emperor with great 
indness condescended to let them know that tliere was no resisting 
^e desire of the King of Prussia, and therefore advised them to 
urry away as fast as possible, that he might inform the king his mes- 

nger had come too late. Whether she came then at once to Eng- 
ind I know not. 

Soon after I was introduced to her, she sung in the concerts at 
>xford, but, sitting during the time when the choruses were per- 
»rming, as was the custom with superior singers on the Continent, 
le audience v/ere offended, and the reverend heads of the colleges 
bruptly dismissed her. Conceiving that public prejudice might 
rise against her, she requested Salomon to bring me to her, that I 
light hear her defence and take up her cause. I did so in a public 
mrnal, and, refusing all pecuniary recompense, we became very in- 
mate ; and I was upon the most friendly terms with her and her 
iisband till an unfortunate attachment on her part to a young musi- 
an occasioned a separation between them, and I then discontinued 
[1 intercourse with both, that I might not be thought to take part 
fiih either. Indeed, I saw what had been going on some time - 
pfore the event occurred, and took the liberty of giving Madame 



296 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

Mara some advice on the subject, but, finding it of no avail, I at 
sented myself. 

The husband w^as very much attached to her, though unfortunatel 
more attached to the bottle ; all her remonstrances were of no effect 
she therefore adopted the measures which I have mentioned to g( 
rid of such a domestic annoyance. 

Mara was a very sensible and intelligent man, and by all accouni 
a good musician. I heard him once perform at the Pantheon in 
duet on the violoncello with the celebrated Crosdill, who was ui 
rivalled on that instrument; Mara nevertheless received great a] 
plause for the rapidity of his execution. When his resources failei 
him here, he went to Berlin, where he was a favourite with Princ ! 
Henry, the uncle or cousin of the king who had formerly endea\« 
cured to detain him ; but, unable to subdue his BacchanaUan prtf 
pensity, he lost the favour of that prince, and died afterward 1 
obscurity. i 

When he accompanied his wife to York, during the zenith of h(| 
fame, to perform in that city, I had a letter from him, in which, m\ 
having acquired much knowledge of the English language, he in 
formed me, " that Charles Fox was then in York, followed ever 
where by the mop, and that the ringleaders of the place were goiri 
to give him a dinner." 

Madame Mara went abroad not long after the separation, and i 
heard nothing of her for many years, except that she had settled i 
Moscow. She was there during the French invasion, and lost tv» 
houses and other property amid the patriotic conflagration whic" 
saved the country from Gallic plunder and despotism. After maE" 
years she returned to England, and surprised me one morning by i " 
unexpected call on me at the Sun office in the Strand. We the' 
resumed our old friendship, and I saw her frequently during her st? 
in London. Her famo was still high in the musical world ; and S 
George Smart, knowing my intimacy with her, applied to me, r 
questing me to use my influence with her to induce her to accept ^tfc 
a night to sing at the oratorios, she having previously demanded lOOi 
alleging that, as Catalani had only that sum, she ought to perform fdjii 
less. I found her inflexible. She was evidently not aware that h(||! 
musical powers had declined. S' 

She was soon after engaged to sing at the Hanover-square co]| 
«erts, but some impediment interfered. Anxious to know how h(|c 
voice remained, I asked one of the chief musical leaders, and h 
answer was, " She dined with me on Sunday." " That is no answ^ 
to my question," said I ; " what is the state of her voice ?" — "All 
can say," rejoined he, " is, that Mara is still Mara." In fact, they hr 
not courage to tell her of the decay of her talents, but, conceivir 
she would be less attractive, they evaded the engagement. 

When she finally left England, she visited her native countr 
Hesse Cassel, from which she wrote to me a long letter, telling n. 
how kind the princess had behaved to her, having patronised a coi 
cert, provided apartments for her, supported her table, and paid h< 



MRS. BILLINGTON. 297 

avelling expenses to some distance on her return to Revel, where 
e fixed her residence after the loss of her property at Moscow. 
Madame Mara possessed a masculine understanding, and had been 
much used to male society, which she preferred, that she was little 
[alified for an intercourse with the female world. She was ani- 
ated in company, and uttered humorous and shrewd remarks. 
Liring her short stay in this country she was countenanced by some 
her former patrons, and had two guineas a lesson for teaching sing- 
y, but by no means met with such encouragement as might tempt 
r to remain. Mr. Broadwood, the great musical instrument manu- 
cturer, lately brought me a message from her, informing me that 
e had begun to write her reminiscences, half of which she had 
ritten in German, and asking my advice whether she should proceed 
ith it in English. I advised her to adopt the latter. 
I had introduced Dr. Wolcot to her, whose talents she understood, 
id whose humour she enjoyed. We passed the evening with her 
hich preceded her departure on her first return to Italy ; and 
king him to write a farewell impromptu, he immediately wrote the 
llowing couplet : — 



Dear Maras, ere you cross the Alps, 

You'll catch d — d colds in both your scalps. 



Mrs. Billington. I knew this admirable singer when she was 
!ry young, and was present when she first appeared in public, and 
irforraed a concerto on the piano-forte, at seven years old. Her 
other, on the same night, performed a concerto on the violin, when 
; was nearly of the same age. They both displayed extraordinary 
)wers, even without considering the early period at which they had 
;quired so much skill. She was born at Baugh, in the year 1765. 
er father was of a noble family in Germany, but by the decline of 
5 rank and fortune he was obliged to cultivate his musical talents 
r a profession. From the early skill of his children, it may be pre- 
imed that he was an excellent tutor. He was a harsh and severe 
an, and partly on account of his temper his wife was induced to 
ait him, and to support herself as a principal vocal performer at 
auxhall Gardens, retaining the name of Weichsel), though separated 
om her husband. I regret to say that neither of the parents held 
)rth a good example to their offspring. 

Mrs. Billington in her youth entered into a clandestine marriage 
^ith Mr. James Billington, a very respectable musician, who be- 
)nged to the band of Drury-lane theatre, and performed on the 
ouble bass. He was a hvely, intelligent, and worthy man. He had 
reat humour and general knowledge ; he was particularly fond of 
iictures, and a good judge of their merit. From some drawings 
/hich 1 have seen, made by himself, I think he would have been a 
ood artist if he had devoted his attention to painting rather than to 
lusic. He was a very pleasant and agreeable companion, and cal- 
ulated to make an affectionate husband. 



298 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

If Mrs. Blllington's connexion with the theatre led her into errors 
in the earlier part of her hfe, much allowance ought to be made for 
the want of a good example in her parents, or rather to the impres- 
sion of such an example upon a young and active mind. 

That Mrs. Billington possessed a kind disposition, I, who knew her 
early and long, can confidently affirm. Her great talents rendered 
her an object of envious rivalry, and interested scribblers defamed 
her character. The man who, by his influence over her mother, 
obtained all the property of the latter by a real or pretended will in 
his favour, took possession of that property, and had the revolting 
indecency to remove it from her lodgings, on the very day of hen 
death: and notwithstanding his affected friendship for the mother, 
almost immediately after her death, pubhshed a scurrilous life of thet; 
daughter, recording actions and events which existed only in the in-dj 
vention of disappointed malice and venality. j 

My father knew this man when he was much respected as an officeri 
in the army, and lived in good society. He went to India, but con- 
ducted himself there in such a manner that he was sent home, and in 
consequence of his dissipated habits degenerated in character, and 
associated chiefly with those who procured unwary prey for a rapa- 
cious money-lender, who left immense wealth at his death. What 
induced me to suspect that he obtained Mrs. Weichsell's property by 
means of a forged will, was a circumstance that occurred in the 
earlier part of his life. He courted a lady of some fortune and great 
expectations. In order to appear to lier a man of property, he sat 
up the whole of several nights to fabricate fictitious title-deeds, which 
he submitted to her inspection. By these means she was tempted 
to marry him, but soon finding that she had forfeited the patronage of 
her family, and been duped by an adventurer, she threw herself from 
the w^indow of a second floor, in the vicinity of St. James's, and was 
killed on the spot. He was a handsome, sprightly man, and retainedi 
a military air even in the decline of life. 

Bad as his conduct was, I must mention one circumstance to his 
credit. He had risen from parents in very humble life, and when he 
was walking one day with some of his brother officers, he saw an old; 
woman at a distance, with a basket on her head ; " Ay," said he^ 
" there's my poor old mother ; I must go and kiss her." She was! 
really his mother. He ran to her, kissed her, shook her by the hand,, 
gave her money, and then joined his companions. The poor womaa 
was confused on his account, and endeavoured to avoid this act of 
filial duty and affection. •; 

What became of this man I know not, whether he is dead or sunk? 
into obscurity, but he is a lamentable proof of degeneracy of character, 
for when my father first knew him, he was esteemed a spirited 
young man of the most honourable principles, and perhaps at that 
period would have looked with horror on the possibility of his being^ 
guilty of such conduct as he subsequently practised respecting the 
property of Mrs. Billington's mother, and still more on the idea of 
extorting money from the daughter by a libel on her life. 



MRS. BILLINGTOIf. 299 

On the day when the work appeared, Mr. BilUngton purchased a 
copy as the ground for a prosecution. In the evening I called on his 
wife, to endeavour to sooth her feelings under such a virulent and 
venal calumny. I advised her to let the slander drop into obscurity.. 
The husband and wife adopted my advice, and the work fell by its^ 
own malice, hardly affording the venomous calumniator, I will not 
degrade the name of author by applying it to him, the expense of his 
worthless publication. 

It is not necessary to trace Mrs. Billington's progress in her pro- 
fession. She first distinguished herself as a vocal performer of the 
highest class in Dublin ; and her fame spreading widely, she was 
offered liberal terms by my late friend Mr. Harris, senior, the prin- 
cipal proprietor of Covent Garden theatre, and appeared there in the 
year 1781. The play on that night was ordered by his majesty 
^eorge the Third. She displayed such powers on that occasion as 
piay be said to have established her fame, and secured her independ- 
bnce. She was soon after engaged for all the chief concerts in the 
metropolis, and for all the country music-meetings, and at length re- 
ceived such inviting offers from Italy as induced her to visit that 
country. 

Mr. BilUngton died at Naples. I lost in him a worthy and agi-ee- 
able man, with talents which I doubt not would have enabled him to 
make a respectable figure in any other profession ; and if her merits 
pad been confined to private life, I am persuaded they were likely to 
pave been a happy couplejaat she was unfortunately, by her beautiful 
person and great musical powers, exposed to the dangers of admira- 
tion, flattery, and influence of the gay world. 

Mrs. Billington, on her return to this country after the death of her 
first husband, continued in the most perfect harmony with his rela- 
tions ; and when his younger brother, an artist of great merit died, 
fehe attended his funeral on a very rainy day, and exposed herself in 
the church-yard, though so much depended on her voice. I was one 
'of the mourners, and witnessed the sincerity of her grief on the 
melancholy occasion. 

She was unfortunately married again to a Frenchman who had 
some connexion with Bonaparte's army, but, not living happily 
together, they parted, and she returned to this country, where she 
exerted her talents with equal splendour and success. She acquired 
a large fortune, and lived with liberal hospitality, allowing her hus- 
band a suitable provision. She frequently gave splendid concerts 
and entertainments at her large and elegant mansion near Hammer- 
smith. At length, after her husband had borne a separation from her 
pf about sixteen years, he signified that he could not subdue his affec- 
tion for her, and desired her to rejoin him abroad. Many of her 
friends earnestly entreated her not to return to a man from whom 
she had so long separated, and whose only motive for requiring a re- 
union was, most probably, to obtain possession of the fortune which 
she had acquired. I wrote with the same view, and in her answer 



300 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

she says, " He is my husband, and I know my duty." I retain her 
letter. 

I have been told that she held him in terror, and that it is probable 
she returned to him because she knew the power of a husband, and 
was afraid of inducing him to exert it. She returned to him, and I 
never heard from her again. There were strange reports respecting 
the cause of her death ; but as her brother, Mr. Weichsell, was on 
the spot, or near it, when she died, and does not give countenance 
to these reports, it may be concluded that they are not well founded. 

On her death her husband returned to this country, and demanded 
her property from her trustee, Mr. Savory, her firm and zealous 
friend ; and as there was no opposing claim, I understood from Mr. 
Savory that he paid him to the amount of about 40,000Z. 

On returning from one of her visits to Italy, her fame was so great 
that Mr. Hill, the proprietor of " The Monthly Mirror," requested I 
would give him a sketch of her life. I applied to her for that pur- 
pose, and in her answer, after mentioning the particulars of her 
family, she concludes with saying, " For God's sake do not make me 
more than thirty." This circumstance ought to have been introduced 
before. Such was the fate of Mrs. Billington, for whom I had a 
warm and pure friendship, and whom I shall always remember with 
sincere affection. She was beautiful in person, amiable in dispo- 
sition, and possessed of the highest musical talents and attainments. 

Mr. John Johnstone. This gentleman united the qualities of an 
excellent actor and a very agreeable singer. In the representation 
of Irish characters, he vfas much superior to any other actor within 
my remembrance. Moody was a good actor, but heavy and sluggish, 
and in the performance of Irish characters his merit was chiefly con- 
fined to those of a lower description. But Mr. Johnstone was always 
active and sprightly, and admirable in representing his countrymen, 
whether of the higher or lower order, or in any of the intermediate 
degrees. The Irish of all ranks are known to be arch, witty, and. 
humorous ; and Johnstone had fully studied the national character. 
There was a peculiar spirit in his manner, and he had great penetra- 
tion. His Foigard was perfect. His Sir Lucius O'Trigger, though 
of a totally different nature, he performed with equal skill. Sir Cal- 
laghan also was a part in which it was impossible for him to be ex- 
celled. But he was not confined to Irish character. Whatever parts 
required manly spirit, seemed always to have been written originally 
to draw forth his talents. He was a very lively companion, and had 
often been honoured by the countenance of his late majesty, and ad- 
mitted into the royal festive parties. His manner of singing humor- 
ous songs was superior to any other performer that I ever witnessed, 
and if asked for a song, he complied as readily as if he had been 
asked for information on any current event. 

Many a pleasant hour I passed in his company at the hospitable 
table of our mutual friend Francis Const, Esq., the chairman of the 
Middlesex sessions. But though Mr. Johnstone was ready for any 
jovial occasion, he was wisely attentive to the dictates of prudence ; 



JOHNSTONE— MR. O KEEFFE, 

^nd conscious of the uncertainty of the theatrical profession, the fluc- 
tuations of fashion, and the caprices of pubUc taste, he managed the 
profits of his talents with discretion. Wliile he Uved like a gentleman, 
and often entertained his friends, he avoided all extravagance ; and 
from his entrance into the theatrical community, took warning from 
those who were careless and insensible to the value of independence, 
which it was his chief aim to obtain, for the purpose of not depending 
on the caprice or tyranny of theatrical managers ; and that he might 
enjoy a competence in the decline of life. He was, however, one of 
those v.'ho might be indifferent to the conduct of managers ; as he 
possessed talents that rendered him a prime favourite of the public, 
and consequently secured him a welcome reception at any theatre. 

His figure was tall and manly, his face handsome and expressive, 
and there was an ease and firmness in his gait, which probably was 
the effect of his having, in the early part of his life, been in the army. 
Towards its decline, however, his person was much altered, but his 
mind retained ail its sense of humour and vivacity till his last illness, 
which ended in his deliverance from all earthly troubles. I have 
dwelt the longer upon the character of Johnstone, because I thought 
highly of his intellectual powers, and am persuaded that he would 
have appeared to advantage in any situation that required attention, 
discretion, and sagacity. 

Mr. O'Keeffe. This gentleman, who is still alive, and who may 
be considered, sui generis, as a dramatic writer, I have long known, 
and have had the pleasure of writing two or three prologues, at his 
desire, for some of his dramatic productions. I have letters from him 
expressive of more thanks than such trifling favours could deserve. 
He had the misfortune to be bhnd ever since 1 knew him, and there- 
fore was not able to take that part in company for which he was well 
qualified by original wit and humour, and, as 1 have reason to believe, 
also by learning. 

He had v.ritten a play, of which our renowned Alfred was the hero, 
to which, at his request, I gave a prologue. In this prologue I 
courted for him, of course, the favour of the public, and signified that 
they would no doubt be surprised that he who produced " Bowkit," 
■" Lingo," &c. should venture to portray the glorious founder of our 
laws. This prologue was spoken, but I understood that it did not 
satisfy Mr. O'Keeffe, who considered himself as equally qualified for 
the serious and sportive drama. As a proof he w^as offended that I 
did not give him credit for a genius for the heroic drama, as well as 
for the luxuriance of his humour in farce-v/riting, when a subscription 
was raised for the publication of his works in four volumes, in order, 
to purchase an annuity for him, to which I was glad to subscribee 
though he introduced all the other prologues I wrote for him, he 
omitted the one in question ; yet, if I do not mistake my own humble 
productions, it is one of the best of the many which I have written. 

Mr. O'Keefie, in his " Reminiscences," mentions having met me. 
I remember that I met him twice at the table of Mr. Daly, formerly 
the proprietor and manager of the DubUn theatre, who was a hancl- 



302 RECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

some man, with a figure well formed for tragedy, and the higher 
characters of the comic drama. He remained in London some weeks, 
and I dined in company with him again at Mrs. Billington's. Mr. 
Daly, according to reports, was irritable and impetuous ; but, if such 
was his temper, it did not appear in company, for while wit, humour, 
and raillery flew around him, he seemed rather disposed to share in 
the mirth, even when some of the sportive effusions glanced at 
himself 

Mr. Daly was the second husband of Miss Barsanti, a lady who 
distinguished herself in her early life at Covent Garden, by her 
theatrical powers, and her admirable imitation of French and Italian 
manners. Her person at that time was tall and slim, and her action 
spirited, graceful, and elegant. Never did I see such an alteration 
in person and manners as when I saw her as Mrs. Daly. She had 
become very bulky, and though amiable and attentive, her manners 
were plain, and she seemed as if she had been a rustic matron who 
had never seen the metropolis. Her husband's attention to her 
seemed to invalidate all the unfavourable reports of the irritability of 
his nature. 



CHAPTER XLHI. 

Michael Kelly. Though I class Mr. Kelly among theatrical 
performers, I rank him also as a private friend, — for a more friendly 
nature I have not known. Though he had no pretensions to literary 
merit, he did not want good taste, nor was it confined to his musical 
profession. Allowing for vanity, an essential ingredient in humaa 
nature, he possessed humour, and was a pleasant companion. His 
" Reminiscences," from which I have derived more amusement than 
from similar works written with higher claims to literary notice, 
represent his character faithfully, and prove what I have before said 
of him, viz. that he was only an enemy to himself. His hospitable 
turn, resulting from the habits of his country, as well as from his own 
liberal disposition, prevented his acquiring that independence which 
otherwise his talents would probably have obtained. 

Madame Mara, one of my early and most intim.ate friends, who 
was well acquainted with the world, gave me a favourable representa- 
tion of Mr. Kdjiy before I knew him. She assured me that he was 
very good-natured, that he possessed great humour, and was peculiarly 
successful in imitating foreign manners, particularly those of foreign 
musical performers and composers. I had never any reason to think 
that Mara had been mistaken in his character. 

He first appeared at Drury-lane theati-e in the opera of " Lionel 
and Clarissa," in which he performed the part of Lionel. I did not 
admire his singing, and his acting was such an odd mixture of foreign 



MICHAEL KELLY. 303 

manners and accents, supported by the native pronunciation of his 
country, Ireland, that, being connected with a public journal at the 
time, I did not wish to bring my humble judgment in question, or to 
say any thing injurious to a young man who came to London with, 
high musical fame, and of whose private character I had heard a 
good report. I was the more disposed to decline criticising his per- 
formance, on account of Messrs. Sheridan and Richardson, proprietors 
of Drury-lane theatre, with whom I was intimate, and who expected 
much advantage from his talents. I therefore requested Mr. Richard- 
son to give an account of Kelly's first appearance ; the interest which 
he took in the theatre, as well as his own benignant temper, induced 
him readily to undertake the task, and his report was highly favour- 
able. Kelly then, from his intimacy with Stephen Storace, a musical 
composer of great merit, and with the kind aid of Mr. Cobb, the 
dramatic author, had songs and characters provided for him, which 
brought him forward, and enabled him to become a favourite with 
the public. 

Kelly was ambitious of high and literary connexions, and his 
cheerful disposition and amusing talents forwarded his pretensions. 
By his own account in his two published volumes, he must have been 
patronised, and admitted to a familiar intercourse with many of the 
most distinguished characters in Europe, in point of rank as well a& 
talents. Few persons, indeed, seem to have enjoyed a more happy 
life, or to have passed through the world with a less offensive, or 
indeed a more conciliating temper. 

He has fallen into some mistakes in his biographical work, but they 
are all of a trifling nature, and hardly worth notice. In his first 
volume, he gives an account of what befell a countryman of his owHy 
according to the report of a Venetian. The Irishman had unguardedly 
thrown out some reflections on the Venetian government, having 
suffered by a theft ; the Venetian, therefore, advised Kelly to keep 
a " silent tongue,'^ lesf he should be involved in similar danger. I have 
a similar story to relate on indisputable authority, and I may therefore 
presume that similar events have happened under the same vigilant 
and formerly rigorous government. 

The fact which I am going to mention I derived from Mr. Roma^ 
a native Venetian, who assured me that he was on the spot at the 
time. An Austrian prince, passing through the streets of Venicep. 
was struck by an embroidered piece of stuff* in one of the shops, and 
ordered one of his attendants to buy and bring it home with him. 
The man did so, but it was pillaged jfrom him as he passed. When 
he informed his master of the loss, the prince said that he thought 
the Venetian sovernraent was too vigilant for such a theft to take 
place. Within an hour after, the Austrian prmce was summoned to 
a legal tribunal then sitting. He was introduced into a darkened 
room, where sat three judges in black attire. He was formally asked 
to tell his name, his rank, and his motive for visiting Venice. Having 
answered these questions, he was then asked with the most awful 
solemnity, if he had ever uttered any reflections on the Venetian 

02 



304 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

state. The prince was so bewildered with the scene before him, 
and the terrific aspect and manners of the judges, that he was unable 
to recollect till he was reminded of his loss, when he attempted to ^ 
stammer out an apology for what he had uttered on the occasion. 
He was then told that he was excused, as a foreigner, but that he 
should have a proof of the vigilance and justice of the Venetian 
government. Folding doors were then opened into a very light, 
room, and the thief was seen hanging with the embroidered stuff 
under his arm. As soon as the prince was released from this 
terrific tribunal, he took his departure immediately from Venice, 
and did not stop on his journey till he was out of the reach of its 
government. 

Mr. Kelly's connexion with Mrs. Crouch brought him more 
forward in the eyes of the public. I knew her first when she was 
about fifteen years of age, and she was one of the most beautiful 
young women I ever saw. Her person pointed her out as destined 
for an appearance in public life, and she was studying music at the 
time. I passed an evening with her at the house of her father in 
Gray's Inn lane. He was a solicitor, but had been in the mercantile 
sea-service before he entered the profession of the law. It was 
impossible for me to be in company with so beautiful a young 
■woman and not pay particular attention to her ; but her father kept 
a rigid eye upon her, and looked displeased when any thing was 
addressed to her in the way of comphment. I remember that she 
sang " My Lodging is on the cold Ground," a popular song at that 
time, with so much sweetness, feeling, and expression, that I augured 
highly in favour of her success in public life. Her progress on the 
stage as an actress as well as a singer, fully justified my anticipation. 
I retained my friendship with her till her death, and had many 
opportunities of supporting her talents through the medium of the 
public press, of which I always availed myself 

I was once highly mortified in learning that she thought I had 
severely commented on her acting in a morning paper. The 
circumstance was as follows : I met Kelly one morning, and, after 
the customary greeting, I asked after Mrs. Crouch. His manner of 
answering seemed a little mysterious, and induced me to desire an 
'explanation. "Why, to tell you the truth," said he, "she is 
much offended with you, as she hears you have mentioned her 
harshly in a newspaper." Finding that she was at home, I hastened 
instantly to the place. There was a gloomy expression in her 
countenance, which Vv'as increased when I said, "Mrs. Crouch, I 
have a crow to pluck with you." Conceiving herself to be the 
aggrieved party, " With me ?" said she, indignantly. " Yes," said I, 
" for supposing it possible that I, who had known you from your 
youth, and was a friend to your family as well as to yourself, could 
have written any thing adverse to you, without the least offence on 
your part. I solemnly assure you that my humble pen has never 
been employed to your prejudice, but always in your favour." Hav- 
ing known me many years, and having very often experienced proofs 



MRS. CROUCH — JOHN KEMBLE. 305 

of my friendship in public journals, she readily gave credit to what I 
said, and by her beautiful smiles amply compensated for her previous 
adverse glances. 

I was not satisfied with this vindication of myselfj but, as she per- 
formed in the evening, I sent a letter to her in the green-room the 
same night, in which I repeated my assurance that she had been 
misinformed, and declared that the person who had given the false 
information was " a liar and a scoundrel ;" desiring her to disclose 
the contents of my letter to any other person who might have heard 
of the accusation. She was, of course, fully satisfied. 

I soon discovered the malignant source of this falsehood. A man 
of talents as an artist, but who had an unfortunate itch for scribbling, 
was a voluntary contributor to a public print with which I was con- 
nected, but in the management of which i had no concern ; and he 
frequently employed his pen in the most venomous effusions of his 
spleen without provocation. He was the author of this attack on 
Mrs. Crouch, and, hearing that it excited great attention among the 
theatrical community, and was considered as an act of wanton ma- 
levolence, he became apprehensive of detection, as he was known to 
vmte for the paper in question, and therefore hinted to Mrs. Crouch 
that I wrote the theatrical articles in that paper, insidiously leaving 
her to conclude I was the author. 

Having previously had reason to believe that he had attempted to 
shift other articles of a similar kind upon me, I was soon confirmed 
in my suspicion, and resolved at once to put an end to the connexion* 
though I had been in habits of intimacy with him many years, and 
always had a full reliance on his friendship. I therefore v^rote to 
him immediately, accused him of his perfidy with respect to Mrs. 
Crouch, and mentioned other victims of his malice, to whom he had 
excused himself by attempting to throw the odium upon me. Instead 
of denying the charge, he demanded my authority, and as I could not 
betray confidence, I contented myself with silent contempt for the 
present ; but as we were connected with a wide circle of mutual 
acquaintance, and the dissolution of our friendship excited much atten- 
tion, I revenged myself by writing a character of him in doggrel 
verse, of which I never gave a copy, but read it to everybody who 
called on me for the purpose of hearing it. I soon found that his 
character was better known to his acquaintance in general than it 
had been to m.e, and that they all admitted it to be an accurate por- 
trait. Many solicited a copy, but I never gave one, on account of 
his family. 

We had belonged to an evening club, fi'om which I vvithdrew, as 
it was not unlikely that very unpleasant feelings might have arisen 
had v/e both been subsequently present at the same time ; not that 
any violence was to be apprehended on his part, for he was a very 
timid man, and a great deal of his time Vv^as passed in making expla- 
nations and apologies to his friends for some mistake into which he 
had fallen from misrepresentation. He once made a caricature of 
Mr. Kemble, in which Mr. Sheridan v/as represented as holding 



306 RECOnDS OF MY LIFE. 

Kemble's head in terrorem, to frighten people from the theatre, — ^a 
design as absurd as mahgnant, since it was evidently Mr. Sheridan's 
object to allure them. Hearing that Mr. Kemble was likely to resent 
such an insult, this insidious and perfidious man requested me to call 
upon him, and assure him that he had no hand in the caricature, but 
that it was done by some zealous friend of his, who thought that Mr. 
Kemble had insulted him, by desiring him not to remain behind the 
scenes on a busy night when there was hardly room for the performers 
to move. 

This was, indeed, the foundation of the attack on Mr. Kemble, by 
the man himself, and not by any zealous friend. I delivered his mes- 
sage to Mr. Kemble, whose answer was, " Well, Taylor, if the man 
chooses to tell a lie, I may as well put an end to the matter by affect- 
ing to believe him." He had been introduced on the occasion alluded 
to behind the scenes by Mr. John Bannister, with whom he was very 
intimate, and Mr. Kemble, then manager of Drury-lane theatre, seeing 
him there, observed that the admission of strangers interfered with 
the business of the stage, and requested that he would retire. This 
act of duty and necessity on the part of the manager excited the re- 
sentment of the visiter, and induced him to resort to the pitiful revenge 
which I have mentioned. 

Fully to illustrate the character of this vain and envious man, he 
had reported that Mr. John Bannister, on an application for pecuniary 
assistance from his father, had refused to assist him with a loan of five 
guineas, unless he would leave his watch as a security for repayment ; 
and he therefore called Mr. Bannister, junior, the "little pawnbroker," 
iJiough he was on terms of friendship with him at the same time. 
This malignant fabrication reached the ear of young Bannister ; and 
as I was returning to town very early one summer morning, just as I 
entered Piccadilly from Hyde Park, I was saluted from a hackney- 
coach, in which I found Mr. Bannister, junior, and my old friend Harry 
Angelo, who has recently published his amusing " Reminiscences." I 
soon learned that they were on their way to call on the man whom 
I have been describing, in order to make him apologize to Mr. Ban- 
nister for the opprobrious falsehood which the latter had invented 
against him. I reasoned with them on the impropriety of disturbing 
a man with his family, probably before he had risen ; and Bannister 
agreed to return, provided I would go with them and read my char- 
acter of the man to our friend Rowlandson, the celebrated artist, who 
had not heard it. As I never gave a copy of this character, and as 
the subject heard of it from many quarters, I felt, perhaps, a blameable 
gratification in conceiving that he probably supposed it to be much 
more severe than it was possible for me to have made it. 

But I have forgotten my friend Michael Kelly all this while. In 
the second volume of his " Reminiscences," he relates an anecdote 
respecting Mr. Sheridan, which he said he derived from the late Mr. 
William Woodfall, but, as he does not state it correctly, I shall men- 
tion it as I heard it, more ti^an once, from Mr. Woodfall himself, who 



SHE&IDAN — RICHARDSOX. 307 

was my particular friend, and on whose veracity as well as memory 
I could perfectly rely. 

It is well known that Mr. Sheridan was engaged in a duel with a 
Captain Matthews, with whom he had previously been on friendly 
terms, attended with peculiar circumstances of mutual animosity, and 
even of desperation. A letter on this subject, containing severe re- 
iflections on Mr. Sheridan, appeared in " The Bath Chronicle," or 
some other Bath journal. In consequence of this letter, Mr. Sheridan 
waited upon Mr. W. Woodfall, then the proprietor and conductor of 
"The Morning Chronicle," of which he was the founder, and requested 
that Mr. Woodfall would copy the letter from the Bath paper into 
his own journal. Mr. Woodfall expressed his surprise that Mr. 
Sheridan should wish to give a v/ider circulation to so bitter an attack 
on him. " That is the very reason," said Mr. Sheridan ; " for as I can 
refute every part of that letter, I wish the attack and the answer to 
be spread over the kingdom, instead of being confined to a provincial 
paper." Mr. Sheridan added, that on the day after the letter appeared 
m " The Morning Chronicle" he would bring the refutation. Accord- 
ingly the letter was published in " The Morning Chronicle," but Mr. 
Sheridan, though applied to for the refutation, never wrote a syllable 
on the subject, and from mere negligence or contempt thus dissem- 
inated a calumny against himself. 

Mr. Woodfall said, that when people came to him with complaints 
against Mr. Sheridan for inattention, he used to relate this anecdote 
to them, and ask how they could expect more attention from one who 
was so negligent in matters that so nearly affected his own reputation. 
Such is the fact as I heard it from Mr. Woodfall. 

The only part of Mr. Kelly's work which I read with regret was 
a passage which related to Mr. Richardson. I will cite the passage. 
" Mr. Richardson was a good man, and one of my most intimate 
friends ; but, like his great prototype and bosom friend, was indolence 
personified; and to-morrow, as with Sheridan, was his day of business. 
He even seemed ambitious of imitating the foibles of Sheridan, which 
was bad taste, considering the disparity of their talents ; for as the 
Spanish poet Garcia observes, ' the eagle may gaze steadfastly at the 
sun, while the butterfly is dazzled by the light of a taper,' not but that 
Richardson possessed considerable literary talent." 

This passage naturally offended Mr. Richardson's three surviving 
daughters, very amiable and accomplished women. I knew Mr, 
Richardson from his first leaving St. John's College, Cambridge, till 
his death, and can affirm that what Mr. Kelly styles " indolence per- 
sonified" was a fondness for study, reading, and reflection, and a 
reluctance, except upon absolute necessity, to leave his family, con- 
sisting of his wife, a remarkably intelligent woman, and four amiable 
daughters, one of whom died some years after his death. 

Mr. Richardson did not speak in the House of Commons, because 
he knew that his Northumberland acc'Snt might expose him to ridi- 
cule ; as he had a high sense of personal dignity, for I will not call it 
pride. But his literary exertions in support of the Fox party, his 



308 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

comedy of " The Fugitive," his share in " The Rolliads and Proba- 
tionary Odes," and other exertions of his pen, of which Mr. Kelly 
could know nothing, should have exempted him from a charge of 
extreme indolence. But besides that I cannot perceive the appli- 
cability of the quotation from the Spanish poet, I must say Mr. Kelly 
was totally incapable of forming a due estimate of the powers of Mr,^ 
Hichardson, who was the favourite and chief confidential friend of 
Mr. Sheridan, a person certainly much better qualified to decide upon 
Mr. Richardson's intellectual faculties and attainments than Mr. Kelly. 

Mr. Kelly mentions a baker who was the moderator at the cele- 
brated Robin Society, which was held in Butcher-row, St. Clement's. 
He says that his name was Tarcoinbe, but I understood from my 
father that it was Jacocks, and, as well as I can recollect, I saw it 
over his door at his shop near the west end of Monmouth-street. I 
once saw this person, who was one of the most dignified men i ever 
beheld. He was a tall and a large man of a very grave aspect. He 
was, I understood, remarkably skilful in summing up the debates at 
the speaking-club above mentioned, and in weighing and commenting 
on the arguments of the several speakers. Some of the first charac- 
ters of the country were frequenters of this club ; and the great Lord 
Chesterfield declared, that he considered Jacocks as fully qualified to 
be a prime minister. Such a man, therefore, deserves a better recor<l 
than I can give to his memory. 

I cannot take a final leave of my friend Michael Kelly without ex- 
pressing my sincere regret that his harmless and pleasant life should 
have passed during some years before his death in so lamentable a 
state, from the effects of the gout, as to render him wholly unable to 
move without assistance ; yet when once seated at a convivial table, 
as I have seen him at that of the late Dr. Kitchiner, his vivacity never 
deserted him, and he was ready to entertain the company by his good- 
humour, his anecdotes, and his musical talents. 

It should be mentioned, injustice to Mr. Kelly, that he retained the 
most affectionate remembrance of Mrs. Crouch till his last moments ; 
and knowing that I had been acquainted with her long before she 
appeared in public, he seemed to feel a melancholy pleasure in impart- 
ing his feelings to me. I knew her father and brother. The former 
held a situation in the Castle at Dublin ; the latter, a very handsome 
man and an excellent singer, was a major in the British army. 

Michael Kelly was so much in favour with his late m.ajesty George 
the Fourth, that he annually received from that lamented monarch 
100/. as a contribution to his benefit. If Kelly " was not witty in 
Mmself," his facetious blunders v^^ere " the cause of wit in others ;" but 
his temper was so good, that he never was offended at the liberties 
taken with him, but attempted to retort their raillery, and generally 
gave fresh occasion for more sportive sallies on his ludicrous mistakes. 
There were latent seeds of judgment in his mind, derived from long 
and varied experience in several countries ; and amid alt his humours 
and eccentricities, his opinion might be safely consulted in matters of 
importance. 



MRS. HORREBOW. 309 

On one occasion, when Mr. John Kemble was grave and silent, 
after many persons had expressed their sentiments on a particular 
subject, and Kemble appeared in dumb solemnity, Kelly turned 
towards him, and aptly applied the words of Hamlet, " Come, Kemble, 
* open thy ponderous and marble jaws,' and give us your opinion." 

Mrs. Horrebow, whom I have had the pleasure of knowing many 
years, is the sister of Mrs. Crouch. She was at Culcutta as an actress, 
and was acquainted with my brother, who died at that place. When 
I once dined with her at Mr. Kelly's, she related the following story, 
which I insert, as it holds forth a proper lesson to pride, affectation, 
and hypocrisy. 

When Mrs. Horrebow returned to this country, there was a gentle- 
man and his niece passengers in the same ship. His name, I think, 
was Dawson. They intimated to the captain that they did not con- 
sider it proper that an actress should be permitted to dine at the same 
table with them, as the profession of an actress was generally marked 
by suspicion, if not profligate conduct. The captain opposed this 
illiberal intimation, and observed that as Mrs. Horrebow was lively, 
intelligent, agreeable, and polite in her manners, he could not 
think of excluding her from the table. It appeared that a few days 
after, one of the passengers had the curiosity to peep through the key- 
hole of the cabin assigned to the uncle and niece, and there beheld a 
scene by no means consistent with the relation between them, and the 
scrupulous delicacy which they had assumed. This curious person 
disclosed what he saw to the captain, who mentioned it to the other 
passengers. On the day following at dinner, some of the companyy 
who had supported the cause of Mrs. Horrebow, hinted at the fasti- 
diousness of those who objected to the theatrical profession, and yet 
were guilty in private life of greater immoralities than were or could 
be represented on the stage. Other hints of a similar kind were 
ihrown'out, and some too direct to be mistaken by the parties to whom 
they alluded. The gentleman and his niece were evidently disturbed 
by these pointed references, and suddenly withdrew. Not appearing 
on the following day when the company assembled at breakfast, a 
message was sent to them, but, no answer having been returned, it 
was determined, after a consultation, to have the door broken open. 
On gaining entrance, a lamentable scene was presented in the dead 
bodies of the uncle and niece, both of whom had been shot, but the 
sound of pistols had not been heard during the night, probably owing 
to the roar of the ocean. A melancholy warning to those who affect 
to be " righteous over-much." 

03 



310 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 



CHAPTER XLIV. 

George Cookb, the actor. I knew this person when we were 
boys together. He was two or three years my senior. He was a 
heavy-looking lubberly boy, and the last person I should have expected 
to turn his attention to the stage, particularly to the assumption of 
heroic characters. A fire happened at Rotherhithe, which was ex- 
tensively destructive. George Cooke and myself went together to 
Wandsworth Common, to a lady who resided there, to whom Cooke's 
mother was distantly related, and to whom a lady intimately connect- 
ed with my family was also related, and then upon a visit. The lady 
of the mansion was a spinster, much advanced in years : her name was 
Dunwell, and she inherited the house in question and the fortune of 
her cousin, Mr. White, who had been dead some years. He was, I 
was told, one of the reading clerks to the House of Lords, and, by 
all accounts, a very amiable and intelligent man. He was known in 
the higher literary circles of his time, and frequently dined at Lord 
Oxford's in company with Lord Bolingbroke, Pope, and the usual 
visitants at his lordship's table. 

It was the custom of Mr. White, whenever he returned from any 
of the dinners at Lord Oxford's or elsewhere, to insert in a book all 
the anecdotes and remarks which had been made by any of the com- 
pany ; and he always annexed the name of the person who had related 
the anecdote or made the remark. The book was nearly full of these 
memorials. Miss Dunwell died, and left the mansion and her fortune 
to the lady whom I have mentioned as being upon a visit when Cooke 
and I went to communicate the melancholy intelligence of the fire 
which had destroyed the house in Rotherhithe where that lady had 
resided. The manuscript book was lent to me, and I remember to 
have read in it most of the anecdotes which I have since found in the 
posthumous work of Mr. Spence. 

As Mr. White was dead, and there was no person in the family of a 
literary turn, the book was little regarded, and I might, as the phrase 
is, have " had it for asking ;" but at that time I was insensible of its 
value. 

On the death of Miss Dunwell, as the lady who succeeded to her 
possessions was a particular friend of my family, and the godmother 
of one of my brothers, I was in the habit of visiting the house, and 
remaining there for some days. There was a good library, without 
any parade of binding, and some excellent Flemish pictures in the 
drawing-room. The dining-parlour contained portraits of Lord Rad- 
nor, Mr. Wilmington, Mr. and Mrs. Garrick, friends of Mr. White, as 
well as a portrait of that gentleman. As far as I can presume to 
Judge of these portraits from recoUectionj compared with the know- 



I 



GEORGE COOKE. 311 

ledge which I have since derived from long experience in subjects of 
the fine arts, they were well painted in oil, of the kit-cat size. Those 
of Mr. and Mrs. Garrick were in crayons, and I afterward saw them 
in the possession of my father's old friend Mr. Mynors, the surgeon, 
of Chancery-lane, who has been dead many years, and I know not 
what became of them : they were painted "by Vispre, who put his 
name to them. They must have been painted in the meridian of the 
lives of Garrick and his wife, and were admirable likenesses. 

George Cooke's mother had a legacy left her by Mrs. Dunwell. 
Mrs. Cooke was a crazy old woman, and much annoyed the late Rev. 
Mr. Harpur, one of the executors. Mr. Harpur was one of the offi- 
cers of the British Museum. Mrs. Cooke frequently called on him, 
and demanded her legacy, which he could not pay till certain legal 
forms gave him authority. On one of her visits, the unfortunate state 
of her mind was too evident, and was attended with melancholy con* 
sequences. While Mr. Harpur and his wife were sitting at break- 
fast, Mrs. Cooke suddenly burst into the room, and in a vehement 
manner demanded the corpse of her son, accusing Mr. Harpur of 
having murdered him. Mrs. Harpur was in a very declining state of 
health at the time, and knowing nothing of Mrs. Cooke, was much 
shocked at the violence of her manner, and the horrid crime imputed 
to her husband. Mr. Harpur, who was a very sensible man, with 
great presence of mind, feeling for the agitation of his wife, quietly 
told Mrs. Cooko that she had not taken the right course in order to 
recover the body of her son, and to bring his murderer to justice. 
" You should go," said he, " to Sir John Fielding's office in Bow-street, 
accuse me of the murder, and he will send his officers to bring me to 
justice. I shall then be tried for the crime, and punished if I am 
found guilty." " Well," said Mrs. Cooke, " 1 will do so immediately," 
and quietly departed. 

Mr. Harpur took especial care to prevent a repetition of such ait 
outrageous intrusion ; but the shock which Mrs. Harpur suffered in 
her declining state was thought to have hastened her end. I learned 
this circumstance from Mr. Harpur, with whom I had afterward the 
pleasure of being well acquainted. He was a remarkably well-bred 
gentleman, of the Chesterfield school. 

The inconsistent and extravagant conduct of George Cooke may, 
perhaps, be not improperly traced to the mental infirmity of his 
mother. Very many years had elapsed before I heard any thing 
more of him than that he had been apprenticed to a printer at Ber- 
wick-upon-Tweed. Hearing that a Mr. Cooke had acquired high 
provincial reputation as an actor, and that he had been a printer, I 
began to think he might be the person I had known when a boy. 

Understanding that he was engaged at Covent Garden theatre, and 
that he was to rehearse the part of King Richard on a certain morn- 
ing, I asked my friend the late Mr. Lewis, the great comic actor of 
his time, and who was then the stage-manager, permission to attend 
the rehearsal ; and he readily consented. It was with difficulty that I 
could trace the lubberly boy whom I had formerly known, through the 



312 RECORDS or MY LIFE. 

great alteration of his person. At the end of the rehearsal, still 
doubtful, I addressed him, and asked him if he recollected to have 
known such a person as myself. He remembered our intercourse, 
but declared I was so much altered that he should not have known 
me. I attended his first appearance in the character of Richard the 
Third, and sat with Mr. Sergeant Shepherd, now Sir Samuel, a gentle- 
man who was held in the highest respect and esteem by his brethren 
at the bar, which, however, he was obliged to abandon on account of 
deafness.* I had the pleasure to find that Mr. Shepherd concurred 
with me in my opinion of Cooke's theatrical merit. We agreed that 
he showed a shrewd reflecting mind, but that his manner was rough, 
coarse, and clumsy. The house was not well attended: he was, 
however, well received. Mr. Kemble sat with his wife in the front 
boxes, and was very liberal without being ostentatious in his ap- 
plause. 

Cooke was strong, but coarse. He had not the advantage of much 
education, but had a shrewd penetrating mind, was well acquainted 
with human nature, and was powerful in those characters for which 
his talents were adapted, and they were chiefly of the villanous. 
He thought of nothing but the indulgence of his passions, particularly 
devoting himself to the bottle. I found him one night in the green- 
room during his performance so much aflected by liquor, that he was 
unfit to appear before the audience. He seemed to be melancholy, 
and when I asked him the cause, he said he had just heard that Mr. 
Kemble had become a partner in the theatre. " Of course," said he^ 
" I shall be deprived of my characters. There is nobody but Black 
Jack whom I fear to encounter." 1 assured him that he mistook Mr. 
Kemble, who knew his value too well to deprive him of any part. 
" For his interest," said I, " he would rather bring you more forward. 
He will revive ' Antony and Cleopatra,' he will be Antony, you 
Ventidius. He will be Othello, you Pierre ; you Richard, he the 
Prince of Wales ; you Shylock, he Bassanio ;" and 1 mentioned other 
parts in which they might cordially co-operate. These remarks 
cheered him, and he said, " If so, we will drive the world before us."^ 
In the mean time, I plied him with tumblers of water, and lessened 
the effect of the liquor, recommending forbearance of the bottle.. 
He thanked me, and promised to take my advice, went home, im~ 
mediately returned to his wine, and was rendered so ill that he was 
confined to his bed the two following days. 

Mn. Usher, the actor. This gentleman was respected for his 
literary talents, and according to report, was the author of an elegant 
little tract, entitled " Clio, or a Discourse on Taste," which I re- 
member to have read in early life, and which aflbrded me pleasure 
and instruction. It was afterward, I understood, much enlarged, and 
approved by the critics of the time. He never rose to eminence in 
his profession, but the parts assigned to him he always supported with 

* Sir Samuel Shepherd's father was a respectable tradesman in Cornhill, and 
much esteemed by all who knew him. 



USHER JOHN PALMER. 313 

Judgment, and was particularly attentive to dumb sJiow, constantly 
exhibiting by his action a feeling correspondent with that of the inter- 
locution in the scenes in which he appeared. He seemed to be of a 
very reserved disposition, and, instead of mingling in the green-room 
with the rest of the performers, always retired to the back of the 
stage during the intervals of his performance. Hence one of the per- 
formers designated him by the title of " The Recluse of the Lake," 
the name of a novel that had then been recently published ; and this 
title was afterward generally applied to him. 

I was acquainted with him, and held him in great respect, though 
his station on the stage was always of a very subordinate description. 
I found him modest, attentive, and intelligent. He had a daughter, 
who was a provincial actress of some repute, but I believe she never 
made her way to the London boards. I knew her also for a short 
time while she resided in London, and considered her as a very sensi- 
ble woman. She was much too unwieldy for the stage when I knew 
her. I presume that they have long since made their exit from the 
mortal stage. 

Considering Mr. Usher as a literary man, he may be considered as 
having devised a strange expedient for the improvement of his fortune. 
He purchased a great number of wheelbarrows, which he let every 
day to the itinerant daughters of Pomona, who drive these carriages 
through the streets of London. They were obliged to return these 
vehicles every night and pay for their hire. V/hat space he had to 
dispose of these travelling machines on their nocturnal return, I never 
knew ; but, according to report, he lost so many of them by the dis- 
honesty of these fair votaries of the goddess of vegetable luxurieSy 
that he abandoned the scheme as a ruinous speculation. 

Mr. John Palmer, the actor. This was an extraordinary per- 
former, and the best I have seen in the characters for which he was 
peculiarly adapted, such as Brush in the " Clandestine Marriage,"' 
Brass, or Dick, in " The Confederacy." I have seen him play both 
admirably. His Henry the Eighth was an excellent performance. 
He could also support characters of manly sensibility, such as Syden- 
ham in " The Wheel of Fortune," a character which he rendered so 
prominent, even with Mr. Kemble's Penruddock, that the former 
character sunk into insignificance on Palmer's death. His " Joseph 
Surface" was understood to have been written by Mr. Sheridan, as a 
delineation of Palmer's real character. 

Mr. Palmer was certainly not calculated for the higher characters 
of the drama, but perhaps it would be impossible to excel, or even to 
rival him in those that were suitable to his talents and qualifications. 
I once saw him attempt Macbeth, but was much disappointed ; and in 
my opinion, he was equally unsuccessful in Falstaflf; though he was 
by no means deficient in humour, yet it did not rise to a level with 
that of the facetious knight. 

Mr. Palmer was always silent in company, but he compensated 
by his expressive gestures for his taciturnity. I once dined in com- 
pany with him at the late Dr. Arnold's. George Colman the younger 



314 KECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

was present, and where he is there can be no want of lively salUes. 
There were other clever men present, and wit and humour abounded. 
Though Palmer was silent, he was attentive, and his expressions of 
surpr^e, admiration, and pleasure, as the repartees flew from each 
person, enabled him to fill the scene as well, and with as much satis- 
faction to the company, as if he had been one of the most active 
speakers. 

Having so fine and commanding a person, he was a great favourite 
of the ladies, and had a high character for gallantry. Being upon 
familiar terms with him, when I once saw him knock at a door in 
Great Pulteney-street, I shook my head in order to indicate that I 
thought he was on some gallant pursuit. Instead of asking what I 
meant, as a man innocent of the implied suspicion would naturally 
have done, he said, " I live here ;" and when I gave another doubtful 
shake of the head, he said, " Upon my word, my family are up-stairs ;" 
and he parted with me in good-humour, acknowledging that rumour 
had given me just grounds for my suspicion. 

But comic characters were not the only ones to which he rendered 
ample justice. He could not, indeed, as I have observed, perform 
the higher parts of tragedy. His Macbeth did not display powers of 
suitable elevation, but his Macduff was very impressive ; and on his 
death Mrs. Siddons, speaking of his merits, said to m.e, " Where shall 
we again find a Villeroy and a Stukely ?" He was indeed admira- 
ble in both of those characters, particularly in the former, chaste, dig- 
nified, and interesting. 

Mr. Kean. Having given some account of the theatrical per- 
formers who have fallen within my notice, beginning with Mr. Gar- 
rick, it might reasonably be thought strange if I said nothing of so 
very conspicuous a character in the theatrical v/orld as Mr. Kean. 
The truth is, that I never could perceive in him those high professional 
merits which the public have not only evidently, but most fervently 
acknowledged. I was unwilling to oppose my humble opinion to the 
public judgment ; and, as a public critic, I deemed it cruelty to attack 
a man in his profession, even if I could possibly have persuaded my- 
self that my weak censure might do him an injury. Such has been 
always my rule in writing theatrical critiques, either on performers 
or dramatic authors. 

I saw Mr. Kean on his first performance in London. The part 
was Shy lock, and it appeared to me to be a favourable specimen of 
what might be expected from a provincial performer, but I could not 
see any of those striking merits which have since appeared to the pub- 
lic ; and, finding in his progress that his fame increased without any 
apparent improvement, in my humble judgment, and, as I before ob- 
served, reluctant to oppose public opinion, I avoided, as much as was 
consistent with the duty of a public journalist, to notice his performances. 
But I hope I shall not be accused of vanity in saying, that I found my 
silence in public, and my observations in private, had brought upon me 
the imputation of being an enemy to Mr. Kean. I should be shocked, 
indeed, if I felt conscious that I deserved such an imputation. As a 



KEAN — HENRY AND G. S. CAREY. 315 

proof, however, that such a suspicion had gained ground, I dined once 
with my old acquaintance, Mr. Pascoe Grenfell, M. P. at his house 
in Spring Gardens, when Mr. and Mrs. Kean were of the party, and 
I heard afterward that Mrs. Kean, a lady by no means unwilling to 
communicate her sentiments, had expressed her surprise, either to 
Mr. Grenfell himself, or to one of the company, that Mr. Taylor should 
be invited to the same table with Mr. Kean. I happened to sit next 
to Mr. Kean at dinner, and paid him particular attention, to obviate, 
or soften any unpleasing feeling on his part, and endeavoured to enter 
into conversation with him on dramatic subjects ; but, though he con- 
ducted himself with politeness, he seemed of a reserved and taciturn 
habit, yet without the least indication that he thought himself near a 
person inimical to his fame. I have since seen Mr. Kean in most, if 
not all, of his theatrical exhibitions, and I can even solemnly declare 
that I went for the purpose of enlightening my mind by the public 
judgment, but unfortunately my opinion remained precisely the same ; 
I say unfortunately, for otherwise I should have received from his 
acting the same pleasure which the public have enjoyed. 

Perhaps it may be thought that I am biased by my recollection of 
Garrick, whom I saw in many of his performances when I was twenty 
and twenty-one years of age. If so, I cannot but admit the charge, 
since I am supported by the testimony of the best authors and critics 
of his time, as well as by the opinion of all his theatrical contempo- 
raries. Far from feeling a prejudice against Mr. Kean, I should have 
been happy in joining with the million in admiration of his abilities, as 
he is the grandson of an old and long-esteemed friend of mine, Mr. 
George Saville Carey. And here let me stop to pay a tribute of re- 
spect to the memory of a very worthy man, and a man of real genius, 

George Saville Carey was the son of Henry Carey, a very popular 
dramatic author, but more particularly known for his fertility in song- 
writing. His " Sally of our Alley" has been long a favourite ballad ; 
he was the author of " Chrononhotonthologos," and other dramas 
popular at the time ; and is mentioned in Dr. Johnson's " Life of Ad- 
dison" as one of Addison's most intimate friends. His son, my old 
friend, laboured to prove that his father was the author of the words 
and music of what has been styled the national anthem, " God save 
great George our King." 

Henry Carey was a musician as well as a dramatic writer, but being, 
like too many of the literary fraternity, improvident, and careless of 
the future, he was reduced to despair, and hanged himself on the ban- 
nister of the stairs where he resided. A single halfpenny was all that 
was found in his pocket ; and it came into the possession of my father's 
old friend, Mr. Brooke, whom I have before mentioned, and who kept 
it as a mournful rehc of departed friendship. 

George Saville Carey, I believe, had no recollection of his unfor- 
tunate father, though he cherished his memory, and was well ac- 
quainted with his works. The son, it is said, was originally appren- 
ticed to a printer, but he soon adopted the theatrical profession, with 
however so little success that he became a sort of public orator and 



316 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

mimic, in which capacity I became acquainted with him early in my 
life. He was chiefly a mimic of the theatrical performers of that time, 
but introduced many odd characters in his miscellaneous compositions, 
which he publicly recited. I remember to have heard him deliver his 
recitations at Marylebone Gardens, now covered with elegant man- 
sions. Like his father, he was a musical performer, and accompanied 
himself with skill and taste on the guitar. 

As the nature of his profession induced him to lead an itinerant life, 
I never knew when or where he died, but have reason to fear not in 
prosperous circumstances. He wrote many songs and other poetical 
productions ; but as he kept them in reserve as instruments of his 
calling, I only know them as he recited them in public, or to me when 
he called on me. I only knew of his death when his daughter, whom 
I understood to be the mother of Mr. Kean, called on me to sell some 
musical productions of her deceased father ; and on more than one 
occasion that child accompanied her who was destined to become 
the most popular and attractive actor of his day. 

I have introduced these circumstances, merely to show that I had 
more reason to be the friend of Mr. Kean than to be adverse to his 
talents. 

I will venture to say a few words respecting Mr. Kean as an actor. 
He had the sagacity to perceive that there were many points and 
passages in dramatic characters M^hich performers in general passed 
negligently over in their endeavours to support the whole of the part, 
but which admitted of strong expression. These points and passages 
Mr. Kean seized upon, and brought forth, sometimes with archness, 
and often with a fiery emotion which made a strong impression on 
the audience, and essentially contributed to his extraordinary success. 
That he performs with great energy must be readily admitted, 
and it is to be hoped that he will inoculate some of his professional 
brethren with the same fervour. 

Here I conclude my observations on Mr. Kean, heartily rejoicing 
at his prosperity, as he is the grandson of my old friend, and as he is 
well known to be a liberal-minded man, and ready to manifest a gen- 
erous zeal to assist any of the theatrical community who fall into 
distress. 

It may be mentioned among the extraordinary vicissitudes of life, 
that when the late Mr. John Kemble, in his almost idolatrous admira- 
tion of Shakspeare, during his management of Drury-lane theatre, 
performed Macbeth, he introduced the children according to a pas- 
sage in the play as spirits — 

Black spirits and white, 
Red spirits and gray, 
Slingle, mingle, mingle, 
You that mingle may- 
Mr. Kean figured as one of those spirits, and was afterward des- 
tined to perform the royal usurper himself on those very boards, and 
to draw popularity from that other great tragedian. Mr. Kemble did 



KEAN — BARRYMOKE. 317 

not consider that his own grave taste might on such an occasion differ 
from that of the majority of the audience, to whom the comic caper- 
ing of the infantile band had a most ludicrous appearance, as, indeed, 
happened to be the case. 

At this time Mr. Kean, being weak in his legs, was obliged to have 
them supported by iron props. My friend George Colman the younger, 
having seen the boy in this situation, and to whose ready wit and hu- 
mour I, as well as most of his friends, have often been a victim, said, 
" Oh ! I remember the child, and I called Us legs Fetter-lane sausa- 
ges." 

In the same spirit of Shakspearian idolatry, Mr. Kemble, at Covent 
Garden theatre, had the table in the banquet scene in " As You like 
It," supported by horns instead of wooden- legs, though in a forest, 
W'ood might have been deemed more convenient and sylvan-like in its 
appearance. But who can blame his enthusiastic admiration of the 
greatest dramatic poet that the world ever knew, and whose chief 
characters afforded him scope for the exertion of his talents, and the 
attainment of his high and well-merited professional reputation ? 

Mk. Baiirymoee. This actor, whose real name was Bluett, which 
he abandoned for one that he thought was more acceptable to the 
pubhc, was never a great, but yet a respectable performer in the 
middle sphere of comedy or tragedy. He was the first Piz^rro in 
Mr. Sheridan's translated and improved play of that name. 

Mr. Barry more had a good person, above the middle stature. He 
had always a just conception of the part which he assumed, and per- 
formed Math great spirit, and sometimes perhaps with too much, in the 
extreme ardour of his feelings. 

I remember a ludicrous instance which shows the humour of Mr. 
Sheridan. Mr. Barry more performed the part of Blondell, in the 
musical afterpiece of " Richard Coeur de Lion," and displayed such ais 
excess of animation, that Mr. Sheridan whimsically observed, that 
Blondell seemed to be as much surprised to find he was Blondell, 
as the rest of the dramatic characters were to hail him as the friend 
of the captive monarch. This idea pleased Sheridan so much that he 
ran about the green-room while Barrymore v/as on the stage, exclaim- 
ing in imitation, " I find I'm Blondell — I'm really Blondell— Egad ^ 
I'm Blondell. How strange ! I'm Blondell." When Barrymore re- 
turned to the green-room, and heard what had occurred, he was much 
displeased, but Sheridan's winning manners soon coaxed him into 
good-humour. 

Mr. Barrymore assured me that he often went dinnerless into the 
passages of Drury-lane theatre, to secure a place at an early hour 
when Garrick performed ; and he dwelt with animation on the excel- 
lence of that incomparable actor. Mr. Barrymore had for some time 
been unemployed, but was restored to the stage by Mr. John Kemble, 
during his management of Covent Garden theatre, and he always 
spoke of Mr. Kemble's kindness with fervent gratitude. 



.318 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 



CHAPTER XLV. 

Mr. Bensley. It may be thought that the same reason which 
might have prevented Mr. Quick from venturing on the stage, would 
have operated on this gentleman, viz., the peculiarity of his voice, 
the tones of which were grave and often nasal ; but he possessed a 
good education and a sound understanding. He was originally an 
officer in the marines, and was present at the taking of the Havana. 
He had not only a peculiarity in his voice, but a wild habit of rolhng 
his eyes, and a formal stiffness in his deportment ; but his good sense 
and gentlemanly manners triumphed over all his defects, and ren- 
dered him a deserving favourite of the public. 

The stiffness of his gesture, the solemnity of his manner, and his 
peculiar tones, all operated in his favour in the part of Malvolio ; and, 
perhaps, it may be fairly said, that he could not be excelled in that 
character ; but, in my opinion, his Mosca, in " The Fox," was the 
part in which he chiefly shone. He was peculiarly qualified for grave, 
sententious, and moral characters. He was spirited in Pierre, and 
sufficiently subtle and impressive in lago. His Prospero was a grave 
and dignified performance. 

Before he ventured on the stage, Bensley was the intimate friend 
of Churchill, the elder Colman, Lloyd, and Wilkes, a proof that his 
intellectual powers and attainments were not of the common order. 
In his latter days he was very intimate with the late Lord Torring- 
ton and Mr. Windham, the latter of whom induced him to retire 
from the stage, and procured for him the situation of barrack-master ; 
the profits of which, with his wife's fortune, and his own prudence in 
the management of his theatrical income, enabled him to receive his 
friends, and to live like a gentleman, a character which he uniformly 
maintained in private hfe. It is lamentable to record, that towards 
the decline of his days his mental faculties decayed, and precluded 
him from society, and even from domestic intercourse, but did not 
disturb the serenity of his temper. A rich relation, of the same 
name, left him, according to report, about 50,000Z. ; but this great 
acquisitioR^ which ought to have Taeen rendered beneficial to him at 
an earlier period, when it was probably wanted, did not disturb the 
placidity of his nature. 

His wife, a very amiable lady, survived him many years, and I 
wrote a tribute to his memory, for which she sent her thanks to me 
as an acknov/ledgment of the truth of my humble memorial. His 
connexion with this lady was somewhat romantic. Seeing her in 
danger of falling from a restive horse at Bristol, he rushed forward, 
like an adventurous knight-errant, and rescued her from peril. This 
accident produced an acquaintance, which vras followed by a 
marriage. 



BENSLEY — THE ELDER BANNISTER. 319 

I think his intellectual malady must have appeared in some degree 
before it became the object of much notice, for I remember to have 
seen him standing in the north piazza of Covent Garden, staring for 
some time earnestly at the church clock. It was just at the time 
when Mr. Kean seemed to be the wonder of the town, and by some 
silly bigots was said to excel Garrick. I accosted him, and in a brief 
conversation said, "I thought Garrick was the greatest actor the 
world ever saw." " Who ever thought otherwise 1" said he, and 
abruptly departed, contrary to the gentlemanly courtesy which had 
marked his whole life. 

The elder Bannister. This actor was one of my early ac- 
quaintances, and a more manly character I never knew. He was 
born with a powerful frame, a strong constitution, and vigorous 
passions. His voice was powerful, but he was capable of singing 
pathetic airs. He had a good understanding, and was quick at 
repartee. Some of his hon-mots would have been widely circulated 
and recorded if they had come from a character in higher life. His 
errors were the effects of his passions, and these were the progeny 
of his vigorous constitution. His social disposition led him into habits 
of dissipation and pecuniary embarrassments, by which the mind is 
too often led into errors, particularly when a convivial turn is accom- 
panied by the companionable qualities of wit and humour ; but I am 
persuaded that he never contracted a debt that he did not intend 
most honourably to discharge, relying on his talents and reputation 
for a certainty of engagements. 

I have seen him in his sober and in his festive moments. In the 
former, with a disposition to jocularity, he was always gentlemanly in 
his manners ; and when under the influence of a social glass, the 
same disposition prevailed, and as far as my observation of his char- 
acter enabled me to judge, he was never in the slightest degree 
inclined to be quarrelsome, but rather to indulge more in waggery. 

That he was an affectionate father I have no doubt, and I doubt 
not also he found an affectionate son in all his difficulties ; thanks to 
the filial regard and prudent wisdom of the latter. It is gratifying 
to me to recollect that, whenever he met me, he said, " I am always 
glad to meet you, as you are a friend of Jack's." And so I was, and 
I should have been very ungrateful if I had been otherwise, for I 
have often derived pleasure from his son's public talents, as well as 
from his hereditary wit and good-humour in private life. 

Charles Bannister was an excellent mimic, and as far as a natural 
timidity would permit him, a very good actor ; for, manly as his char- 
acter v/as, I have been assured that he felt an awe of the public eye, 
which he never could entirely overcome, and that when he was to 
appear in a new character, he walked upon the stage in great agita- 
tion before the curtain was drawn up, and could not subdue this 
emotion even in parts most familiar to him. He was more likely to 
injure himself by misplaced confidence, than to injure anybody by 
meanness or dishonour. What he might have been in any other sta- 
tion or profession it is not, in my opinion, difficult to say, for I am 



320 EECORDS OF MY LIFK. 

sure a manly spirit would have been predominant, and generosity, as 
well as wit and humour, would have rendered him as conspicuous as 
his situation would allow. His Caliban, in the opinion of my friend 
GifFord, a much better judge than myself, was the most pei'fect 
assumption of character that he had ever witnessed on the stage. 
But, in reality, Charles Bannister was born for good-humour and 
conviviality — 

To doff the world, and bid it pass. 

With all his careless excesses, he was always designated, by those 
who best knew him, by the name of " Honest Charles Bannister," — • 
a designation to which I heartily subscribe, when I reflect upon his 
intrinsic character, and what affluence would have made him. 

Mr. Robert Palmer. This actor was very well calculated to 
follow his brother John in impudent footmen, and all characters of 
that description, but by no means in the higher order of comedy. 
He was excellent in rustic characters, and in the representation of 
inebriety. He was a very good-natured fellow, and was generally 
styled " Bob Palmer." Though well acquainted with the town, and 
all its careless, if not dissipated characters, there was a simplicity in 
his nature that was somewhat extraordinary. At present I remem- 
ber one instance. Happening to meet him one morning when I had 
seen a paragraph in the newspaper, stating that a Mr. M.'s brother 
had eloped with his wife, I asked him to Vv^hom the article alluded, 
and having told me the name of the injured party, he added, " If a 
brother of mine had served me so, d — n me if I would ever speak to 
him again !" 

Honest Bob had the usual ambition among actors to appear in 
characters for which nature had not designed him, such as grave and 
sententious moralists ; and he once announced " an attempt to per- 
form Falstaff," which, indeed, was an att€7npt. 

Mr. John Quick. I have already mentioned this gentleman, but 
may nevertheless be allowed to say something more of a most excel- 
lent actor and a very worthy man, with whom I have been intimate 
many years, and with whose talents I have often been gratified. 
Mr. Quick is still alive, and by his social qualities and abundant good- 
humour is able to delight those friends with v/hom he associates in his 
quiet retreat at Islington. I have not had the pleasure of seeing him 
for many years, but in passing by his house within the last three, I 
called on him twice, and was both times disappointed. 

Mr. Quick's understanding, talents, and knowledge of life would 
have qualified him for the highest characters of the drama, though 
comedy was his proper sphere of action, if nature had given to him 
a person and voice suitable to the heroic province. There is hardly 
any species of character in the comic drama which he did not per- 
sonate with critical precision, as well as with exuberant humour, ex- 
cept, perhaps, the parts of youthful gallants, in what is styled genteel 
comedy. Yet he could well assume characters of rank, such as 



QUICK — MRS. bembridoe:, 321 

ancient splenetic barons, where pride and arrogance were essential • 
but in middle and lower life his humour was always appropriate and 
irresistible in effect. He never gave offence by indulging a luxuri- 
ance of gayety, but was always strictly adherent to his part, except 
in such diverting decorations as were in exact correspondence with 
it, and such as the author might expect in an actor to give animation 
to his own design. In all Shakspeare's clowns he fully executed the 
conception of his great author, and said " no more than was set down 
for him." His Dogberry may be said to have been as perfect a per- 
sonation as any ever represented, even by Garrick. His affected 
pity at the ignorance of Verges, while he glaringly exposes his own, 
made the audience always regret that the scene was not longer. His 
voice was so peculiar, that it seems strange it did not originally deter 
him from thinking of a theatrical life : but he managed it so well as 
always to render it natural and correspondent with the part which he 
represented. His Tony Lumpkin was perfect in rustic bluntness 
and humour, nor was he less effective in Justice Woodcock. His 
misers were admirable and finished portraits. He was no less ad- 
mirable in Touchstone, exhibiting a perfect conception of the char- 
acter, and illustrating it by his own original waggery. 

On one occasion, when he was performing the part of Justice 
Woodcock, and Mrs. Billington that of Rosetta, the song in which 
she says, " I'ii reward you with a kiss," and gives one to the justice, 
was encored ; and as he was of course gratified by a repetition of the 
same favour, he came forward and bowed gratefully to the audience, 
who were highly entertained by this prompt testimony of good-hu- 
mour. He liberally allowed the talents of his competitors. 

I remember once asking his opinion of Shuter, v/hom I regret to 
say that I do not sufficiently recollect as an actor, considering my 
opportunities. He spoke of Shuter's talents with the warmest pane- 
gyric, and concluded with saying that he was " all honey" 

Here I may properly quit the theatrical qualifications of my old 
friend, and refer to his private character. He was, and I doubt not 
is, the same respectable member of society that he always has been, a 
good husband and father. His daughter is married to Mr. Davenport, 
a teacher of languages, and the author of two valuable dictionaries, 
one Italian and English and the other Spanish and English. He re- 
sides in Doctors' Commons, and, before his advanced age disabled 
him, Mr. Quick, since his retirement, us«d every day to walk from 
Islington to see his daughter, and indulge the feelings of an affection- 
ate father. 

Mrs. Bembridge. In the early part of my life I became ac- 
quainted with a widow of this name. She was the mother of Mr. 
Bembridge, who held a good situation in the Army Pay Office for 
many years, but was dismissed during the time that Mr. Burke was 
paymaster, contrary to Mr. Burke's efforts to retain him in his post. 
Mrs. Bembridge was much advanced in years, but retained good 
bodily health and a perfect possession of her intellectual powers. I 
was always fond of associating with old persons, from whom I ex- 



322 RECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

pected to derive knowledge ; and as I listened with pleasure to this 
lady, she took much notice of me. Her connexions had been of a 
high order. I understood from her that it was the custom in her 
early days for gentlemen to take their female friends with them to 
their tavern dinners ; and she told me, that upon an occasion of this 
nature she was present when Lord Bolingbroke, Pope, Prior, and 
other distinguished wits were of the company ; she was introduced 
by a near relation, being anxious to witness such a scene. 

Soon after dinner a message was delivered to Prior, who suddenly 
rose and was leaving the room. Pope asked him in a low tone the 
cause of his quitting the company ; and he answered softly that he 
had received a message from Chloe, who had been arrested, and that 
he was going to release her. Whether he returned to the company 
I know not, or have forgotten. 

Many accounts have been given of this memorable Chloe, the 
favourite of one of our best poets ; but, according to Mrs. Bembridge, 
who professed to have authentic information, she was the wife of a 
barber in Long Acre, who had by no means a delicate sense of con- 
jugal purity, and thought he was honoured by Prior's patronage of 
his wife, though probably not indifferent to a more convenient com- 
pensation. 

Mrs. Bembridge informed me that at a later period she had a 
house at Twickenham, so near to that of Pope's that their gardens 
were close to each other. She had no intercourse with her neigh- 
bour, but was one day surprised by a note from Mr. Pope, importing 
that, with her consent, he would have the pleasure of taking tea with 
her. She of course signified that she should be proud of the honour 
of receiving him. He came, and desired to take a walk in her gar- 
den. The lady accompanied him, and, as he was attracted by some 
object, he advanced a few steps before her, but suddenly turned and 
said, " Madam, I beg ten thousand pardons, you had a shocking pros- 
pect before you," obviously alluding to the deformity of his person. 
" Ah, Master Taylor," said the old lady, " it was then I felt my de- 
ficiency ; I wanted to say something about the hon-our of having a 
visiter of his genius and fame, but I could only blush and look foolish." 

Mrs. Bembridge described Mr. Pope as having been very talkative 
at the tavern dinner mentioned before ; but that Lord Bolingbroke 
was reserved, though attentive to all that passed, and at times cast 
around him such penetrating glances as were calculated to excite awe 
wherever they were directed. Mrs. Bembridge must have been a 
very handsome woman, judging from the interesting remains of her 
person when I knew her. 

Dr. Monsey told me, that in paying a visit one morning to a noble- 
man, whose name I do not remember, as he was chatting and stand- 
ing by the fire, a little man, who was sitting near, made such shrewd 
comments on what passed as he was unable to answer, and that he 
soon after left the room, wondering who this mean-looking clever 
man could be ; upon inquiring of the porter, when he quitted the 
house, Monsey was told that it was Mr. Pope. The doctor said he 



ANECDOTE OF SHAKSPEARE. 323 

^as ready to bite his tongue off for having taken leave, as he had 
been anxious to get into company with the great poet, but never saw 
him after. As the doctor was so free in his manners with persons 
of all ranks, it was very strange that he did not invent some excuse 
to return to the room, as he was one of Pope's warmest admirers,, 
and very often quoted from his works. 

Mrs. Bembridge was an intimate friend of Mr. White, reading 
clerk to the House of Lords. 1 had read a manuscript book writtea 
by Mr. White, in which he had made minutes of all he had heard at 
the tables of Lord Bolingbroke, the Earl of Oxford, and other great 
houses. Among the articles in that book was the following story as 
related by Mr. Pope. 

Shakspeare, after his retirement from the stage, used, on his visits 
to London and also on his return, to rest at the Crown at Oxford, 
the chief inn in that city, then kept by Mr. Davenant. This land- 
lord had a son to whom Shakspeare was godfather, and who was 
therefore christened William. Mrs. Davenant was a very handsome 
woman, and it was surmised that Shakspeare was more than a god- 
father to the boy. Billy Davenant was always sent for from school 
when Shakspeare arrived, and one day when the boy was running 
home he was met by a head of one of the colleges, and asked where 
he was going in such haste. The boy said, " I am going to my 
godfather, Shakspeare." — " What !" said the gentleman, " have they 
not yet taught you not to take the Lord's name in vain ?" — in which 
he was supposed to allude to the rumour against Mrs. Davenant's 
conjugal fidelity. 

Such is the story as I copied it from the manuscript, and many 
years ago communicated to the world through the medium of the 
public press. I have since discovered that my father's old friend 
Mr. Oldys relates the same story in his manuscript, as having also 
received it from Pope at Lord Oxford's table, and states that it was a 
townsman of Oxford, not the head of a college, who addressed the 
boy ; but the answer, in my opinion, is more pointed in Mr. White's 
account of the story, and more suitable to a scholar than a towns- 
man. 

Mr. Steevens's disbelief and contempt of this story is truly ridicu- 
lous, viz. that from Sir William Davenant's " heavy, vulgar, unmeaning 
face," he could not be Shakspeare's son : as if nature was always 
consistent in transmitting beauty and deformity. But surely Mr. 
Steevens might have traced some lineaments of Shakspeare's mind 
in Sir William, who was shrewd, intelligent, and a good poet ; and 
whose son seemed to carry on the intellectual features, as he was a 
scholar, and published several learned works. Yet for the honour of 
Mrs. Davenant's character it would be liberal to distrust the story, 
though not upon the same grounds as the absurd skepticism of Mr. 
Steevens. 

There is another story respecting Shakspeare, which I have read, 
but know not where, and which I may mention because every thing 
that relates to our great dramatic bard must have some interest 



324 RECORI>S OF MY LIFE. 

attached to it. It is said that Burbage, the chief actor in Shakspeare's 
time, had made an assignation with a lady of a tolerating disposition ; 
that he was to call on her when he had performed his part at the 
theatre ; and that when he knocked at the door and she answered him 
from the window, his signal was to be, " I am Richard the Third/' 
the part which he had previously performed. Shakspeare, accord- 
incf to the story, overheard the appointment, and determined to fore- 
stall Burbage ; and as either gallant was equally acceptable to the lady, 
Shakspeare was well received. When Burbage came and knocked 
at the door, Shakspeare looked oat of the window instead of the 
lady, and in answer to Burbage's signal, " I am Richard the Third," 
said, " But I am William the Conqueror, and he was the first." It is 
not unlikely that this story might have furnished a hint to Otway for 
his lamentable incident in " The Orphan." 

There was another curious anecdote in the same manuscript book, 
which I copied and gave to the public prints many years ago. It 
stated, that on the night after the decollation of King Charles the 
First, his body was placed in a room at Whitehall, and that the Earl 
of Southampton sat in the room to guard and manifest his respect 
for the royal corpse. About midnight the door opened, and a person 
entered so muffled that he could not be known, who, after slowly 
Walking to the coffin, looked at the corpse some time, and having ex- 
claimed, " Cruel necessity !" as slowly retired. Lord Southampton 
said he could not discover the person, but thought from his figure and 
voice that it might be Oliver Cromwell. 

Having mentioned these anecdotes to my late friend Mr. Malone 
in a letter, he favoured me with the following answers, which I sub- 
mit to the reader, as they afford additional proof of the indefatigable 
zeal with which he pursued all subjects that he took in hand, and of 
the judgment and acuteness with which he treated them. 

Mr. Malone was quite a gentleman in his manners, and rather of a 
mild disposition, except when he had to support the truth, and then 
there were such firmness and spirit in what he said, as could hardly 
be expected from one so meek and courteous ; but he never departed 
from politeness and respect. The following is Mr. Malone's answer 
to the first of these anecdotes : 

" to john taylor esq. 
" My oeah Sir, 
" An unusual press of business has prevented me from thanking you 
for your notices concerning Davenant's being the supposed son of 
Shakspeare. But you are in an error in supposing that the story 
which you mention is not noticed in my edition : it occurs there 
twice ; once from the papers of Oldys, who says he had it from Pope 
at Lord Oxford's table (see vol. i. part i. page 158, and additional 
anecdotes, Warton's long note, &c.), and again the fact is alluded to 
in vol. i. part ii. page 270. It also occurs, under different names, in 
Taylor the W"ater Poet's Jests. Oldys having got hold of the storj', 
I could not give it v^rell from myself, but shall give it in form in my 



MR. malone's opinion. 325 

new edition, with some new additional evidence. By the way, you 
see how stories gather as they run ; for, according to your relator it 
was a grave head of a house who asked the boy this question, and 
made the sly observation on Davenant's answer ; but Oldys, with 
more probabiUty, says, that the questioner was a townsman of Oz- 
ford. Then again, we are told that Shakspeare went to London 
every second year, whereas, unquestionably, as long as he was con- 
nected with the stage, he went every year. 

" I am, dear sir, with many thanks, 

" Most faithfully yours, 

" £. Malone. 

^ "Foley Place, September 12, 1810." 

" TO JOHN TAYLOR, ESQ. 

" My DEA.li Sir, 

" The anecdote you mentioned (as derived from Pope), of a man 
skulking into the chamber at Whitehall, on the night when the body 
of the murdered Charles was laid there, is told also by Spence, in 
his anecdotes, from the same authority. But it is good for nothing : 
the perfidious Cromwell had no such feelings. Read the trial of the 
regicides, and you will there find that when he saw Charles landed 
at Sir R. Cotton's garden, and he was sure they had caught him, he 
turned as white as a sheet ; and just after, he and Harry Martin and 
others entered into a consultation how to destroy him ; and they 
agreed that the best preparation for that work would be to blacken 
him enough. Besides, Mr. Herbert, to whom the care of the body 
was consigned, has left memoirs, and having minutely noticed every 
little circumstance, and doubtless sat up with the body, he would 
hardly have omitted such a circumstance as this. 

" I have quite forgot what you told me concerning Johnson's pro- 
logue to Goldsmith's play. Pray be so good as to send it to me. 
The life will very soon go into the press. 

" Yours, dear sir, faithfully, 

. "E. IvIalon b 

1^ " Foley Place, Oct. 13, 1810." 

To the zeal, judgment, and accuracy of Mr. Malone, the world is 
indebted for a valuable account of the English stage, and for many 
interesting particulars respecting the works, life, and family of Shak- 
speare. It is not unlikely, that the story importing that Sir William 
Davenant was supposed to be the son of Shakspeare, v^^hich I derived 
from the manuscript book written by Mr. White, is the most correct, 
for Mr. White immediately wrote all the anecdotes that he heard at 
Lord Oxford's table, and Oldys having so many literary works in 
hand, might not exactly recollect it. According to Aubrey's account, 
as published by Wood, Sir William v/as contented to be thought the 
son of Shakspeare, no great compliment to the memory of his mother. 
That the report had some foundation is obvious, since it was men- 
tioned bv Taylor, the Water Poet, and probably by others at the 

F 



326 KECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

time. At all events, whatever relates to Shakspeare must be in- 
teresting. 

As to the anecdote respecting the supposed visit of Cromwell to 
the body of King Charles, it is strange that Mr. White should have 
mentioned Lord Southampton as sitting up with the body, and not 
Mr. Herbert. But, perhaps, they both performed that melancholy 
duty, and during an occasional absence of Mr. Herbert, the muffled 
man might have entered as described, and he therefore did not 
notice what he had not himself seen. Admitting that Cromwell was 
the mysterious visiter, the fact was perfectly consistent with the 
hypocrisy of his character, and a natural desire, even in such a char- 
acter, to acquire some reputation for humanity. 

It is somewhat strange that Mr. Malone should not have noticed 
Mr. White's statement, that Lord Southampton was the person who 
attended the body of the murdered monarch, as there can be no 
doubt that it was so represented by Pope in the hearing of Mr. 
White, who did not mention the name of Mr. Herbert. Why mus^ 
the story be untrue ? And why must Cromwell have turned as 
white as a sheet because he had caught the king ? Turning white is 
not the indication of joy. Granting the fact, may it not rather be 
inferred that Cromwell was confused by the sudden arrival of the 
king, and apprehensive that the people might rise in support of their 
persecuted monarch, and the rebels be finally disappointed, particu- 
larly as they deemed it necessary to blacken his character in orde? 
to prepare the minds of the people for the dreadful catastrophe which 
they had in view ?^ This appears to me to be a more probable solu- 
tion of Cromwell's paleness than that it resulted from the pleasure of 
getting the unfortunate monarch into his power. LTpon the subject 
of the rebellion and the regicides, it has always appeared to me that 
Clarendon wrote from his feelings rather than from his reflections on 
the conduct of the conspirators after the melancholy event had 
occurred. Yet I reproach myself wath temerity in venturing to 
differ from so judicious and venerable an authority. 

Recurring to the subject of Shakspeare, a subject that must be 
ever interesting to those who are proud of their country, I will ven- 
ture to hazard a conjecture. It is well known that there is a tradi- 
tional story, importing that Queen Elizabeth, pleased with FalstafF, 
desired the author to prolong the character, and represent him in 
love, and that, in consequence of this request, he wrote " The Merry 
Wives of Windsor." But that seems to be an erroneous conception, 
for Shakspeare has not invested him with the noble -and disinterested 
passion of love, but has made him a mercenary profligate, and a pan- 
der, totally contrary to the supposed wish of the queen. If it be 
true that Elizabeth expressed a desire to Shakspeare that he would 
write any play, it appears to me that the play in question must have 
been " Henry the Eighth ;" for whatever her filial affection and rev- 
erence might be, she must have been convinced, that the tyranny and 
turbulence of her father's character were not likely to receive a 
favourable report in the record of history, and might therefore wish 



QUEEN ELIZABETH AND SHAKSPEARE — R. CUMBERLAND. 327 

that the great poet would soften his character, and transmit him to 
posterity, through the medium of the drama, with a princely dignity, 
and a temper blunt but not brutal. It is not possible that Shakspeare 
would have presumed to introduce the character of her father, and 
have brought forward the play, without full authority, and a direct 
request, if not a positive command. 

Shakspeare has wonderfully succeeded in drawing the character 
of Henry, giving a favourable colouring to his tyranny, cruelty, and 
caprice, and such as must have satisfied Elizabeth ; and this con- 
jecture places her in the light of an affectionate and respectful daugh- 
ter. Thi? supposition, in my humble opinion, gives probability and 
strength to the traditional story of her having desired Shakspeare to 
write a play, but not that in which there is no conformity to her sup- 
posed requisition. Dr. Kendrick seems to have adopted the mis- 
taken tradition, and to Iiave been tolerably successful in giving the 
facetious and licentious old knight a more honourable passion in his 
ingenious comedy of " Falstaffs Wedding." 



CHAPTER XLVI. 

Mr. Richard Cumberland. What I remember of this gentle- 
man was both disagreeable and pleasing. When he was not touched 
with jealousy of other writers, his manners were highly gratifying. 
He was full of anecdotes, but sometimes his memory failed, and little 
reliance could be placed on the accuracy of his narrations. He had 
a great command of language, and has left full evidence of his having 
been a good scholar, as well as a sagacious critic. His observations 
on " The Fatal Dowry" of Massinger, compared with " The Fair 
Penitent" of Rowe, which my friend Gifford has introduced in hisi 
admirable edition of Massinger's Plays, are ingenious and profound ; 
but it is by no means improbable, that if Rowe had been as distant from 
him in point of time, and Massinger as near to his period as Rowe,, 
he would have found good reasons for preferring " The Fair Peni- 
ient," and his arguments have been as strong in favour of the latter. 

The first time that I was in company with Mr. Cumberland was at 
the chaplain's table in St. James's Palace. Among the party was 
Dr. or Mr. Jackson, "one of his majesty's chaplains. Jackson, whose 
character resembled that of Mr. Cumberland in veneration for the 
higher ranks, began with asking how Lord Edward Bentinck was>^ 
that nobleman having married a daughter of Mr. Cumberland. Mr. 
Cumberland expatiated upon the health of his lordship, and nothing 
was heard but about his lordship for some time, his lordship's title 
adorning every inquiry, and closing every answer. At length, when 
his lordship had sufficiently wearied the company, Lady Edward was 

P2 



328 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

introduced in turn, and engrossed nearly as much of the conversa- 
tion as his lordship, with as much repetition of her ladyship's title. 

When these subjects were exhausted, it became Mr. Cumberland's 
turn to inquire ; and as Jackson was patronised by the Duke of Leeds, 
Mr. Cumberland, of course, thought it his duty to inquire after his 
grace. His grace then was echoed over the table as frequently as 
had been his lordship and her ladyship. At length the conversation 
became general ; but some contemporary dramatic author having 
been mentioned with commendation, Mr. Cumberland began to ex- 
press his surprise that so favourable an account had been given of a 
writer so little entitled to notice, much less to praise. The gentleman 
who had commended the author in question attempted modestly to 
support his opinion. Mr. Cumberland became heated, and spoke in 
so irritable a manner that the gentleman thought proper to drop the 
subject. 

Dr. Taylor, chaplain to his majesty, and Jackson's coadjutor, was 
at the dinner, with the Rev. Mr. Penneck. Mr. Nicol, the venera- 
ble bookseller to his majesty, and myself, after the dinner, adjourned 
for tea to the house of Mr. Nicol in Pall Mall ; and I remember that 
Mr. Nicol, after a liberal compliment to the talents and attainments 
of Mr. Cumberland, concluded, in reference to the want of temper 
which he had shown at the table, with observing, that he m as " a man 
without a skin." 

Jackson was generally known by the designation of Con. Jackson, 
an abridgement of consequential, on account of the affected dignity 
of his deportment, and the manner in which he larded his conversa- 
tion with the names of his noble connexions. My late friend Sir 
James Bland, who omitted his former name of Burgess, wrote a very 
humorous tale respecting this Dr. Jackson, entitled " The Bishop's 
Wig," founded on a report that the doctor had ordered a wig in ex- 
pectation that he should obtain a mitre through the influence of his 
patron the Duke of Leeds. Sir James had written many other 
humorous productions of the same description, and I was not a little 
gratified when, referring to my tale of " Monsieur Tonson," he ad- 
dressed me once in company, and sportively said, " Ah ! Taylor, 
nobody can write tales but you and L" 

Mr. Cumberland certainly displayed his critical acumen when he 
was the means of introducing Mr. Dowton to the London stage, one 
of the best comic actors within my remembrance. It is with much 
reluctance that I have given this unfavourable account of a gentle- 
man whom I cannot but admire as a scholar and an author ; but 
though I could relate other anecdotes of the same kind, I shall take 
leave of him with one anecdote that was told me by my early and 
most intimate friend the late Mr. Richardson, author of the comedy 
entitled " The Fugitive," and one of the writers of " The RoUiad and 
the Probationary Odes." 

Mr. Cumberland came one night to Mr. Sheridan's box in the 
theatre somewhat late, and stumbled at the entrance. Mr. Sheridan 
sprang forward and assisted him. "Ah! sir," said Cumberland, 



MR. KICHARDSON. 329 

" you are the only man to assist ^falling author. Mr. Sheridan, in 
waggery or forgetfulness, said, " Rising, you mean," the very words 
which Mr. Sheridan has assigned to Sir Fretful Plagiary, in " The 
Critic," a character commonly understood to be drawn for Mr. Cum- 
berland. 

The name of Mr. Richardson will not suffer me to proceed to 
any other subject, till I have paid a tribute of sincere respect and re- 
gard to his memory. I became acquainted with him just after he 
quitted St. John's College, Cambridge. He was at that time a re- 
markably fine showy young man. I was struck by his admirable 
understanding and the peculiar force and elegance of his language, 
which appeared to me to have all the energy without the pomp of 
Johnson, with the terseness and spirit of Junius. As he was a total 
stranger in London, and had no college connexions in town, we soon 
became very intimate, and our friendship, with a short intermission, 
lasted till the end of his life. My admiration of his talents increased 
in proportion as I became better acquainted with him, and I had never 
any reason to alter my opinion of his intellectual powers. His short 
history, as I understood from one of his earliest friends, was as fol- 
lows. 

He was born at Hexham, in Northumberland, in 1755, and was 
the son of a respectable tradesman in that town. The father not 
being able to give him a university education, a titled lady in the 
neighbourhood, hearing of the promising talents of the young man, 
offered to send him to college, and to support him till he obtained a 
degree, signifying that he would probably make his way in life with- 
out requiring any farther assistance from her. After he had been a 
few years at college the lady married, and then informed him that her 
husband did not think it proper that she should any longer support a 
fine young man, lest she should give occasion to the gossiping suspi- 
cions of a slanderous v/orld. As Mr. Richardson did not choose to 
become a burthen upon his parents, he thought proper to quit his col- 
lege, and to try his fortune upon the world at large. A gentleman 
whom he had known at Cambridge, and who was connected with 
" The Morning Post" newspaper, a few years after its origin, pro- 
cured for him the situation of a literary contributor to that paper, and 
afterward furnished him with the means of becoming one of its 
'^proprietors. 

It is much to be regretted, that it is impossible to collect his various 
effusions in prose and verse, during his connexion with that paper, as 
they would doubtless have constituted a lasting monument of his 
genius, learning, and taste. 

In due time Mr. Richardson's talents became known to a large 
circle of friends, in which were included Mr. Fox, Mr. Sheridan, Mr. 
Tickel, Lord John Townshend, Lord Fitzwilliam, the late Duke of 
Portland, and the late Duke of Northumberland. The last nobleman 
enabled him to become representative in parliament for Newport in 
Cornwall. 

He was called to the bar in the year 1784. Being of a modest 



330 RECORDS OF MY MFE. 

and delicate temper, though he possessed great powers of language, 
and was a profound logician, the " wrangling bar" was not suited to 
his disposition ; and to the same cause must be ascribed his indiifer- 
ence to reputation as a speaker in parliament. Yet I am assured 
upon good authority, that in two or three contested elections for 
country boroughs, he distinguished himself as a counsel by the shrewd- 
ness of his examinations and the force of his eloquence, though some- 
what impeded by a provincial accent, which he never could suffi- 
ciently conquer ; and this circumstance also doubtless deterred him 
from appearing as an advocate in the London courts of law. At 
length, becoming the chief confidential friend of Mr. Sheridan, he 
was induced to relinquish the bar altogether, and to turn his attention 
to the drama. 

In the year 1792, his comedy of " The Fugitive" was brought for- 
ward at the King's Theatre,* in the Haymarket, and received with 
very great applause. The prologue was written by the late General 
Burgoyne, and the epilogue by Mr. Tickel. Mr. Richardson did not 
think proper to attend the performance himself, but his friend Tickel, 
who was present; undertook the office of transmitting to him, at the 
end of every act, an account of the manner in which it was received 
by the audience ; and the very favourable reception which it expe- 
rienced was, of course, highly gratifying to the distinguished friends 
of the author, as well as to himself and his family. 

This comedy is written with admirable spirit. It can hardly be 
considered as an exaggeration of its merit, when it is said that the 
scene between Old Manly and Admiral Cleveland is not unworthy 
of the genius of Congreve. It was supported in the representation 
by the first performers of the theatre, all of whom felt pleasure in 
testifying their respect for the author. 

During the progress of the comedy, Mr. King, who performed the 
part of the admiral, having been taken ill, the late Mr. Kemble, who 
was then the manager, undertook the part, and displayed great judg- 
ment and more comic humour than was thought to be within the 
compass of his theatrical powers. By the profits of this comedy, and 
the assistance of some of the higher order of his friends, Richardson 
was able to purchase from Mr. Sheridan a fourth part of the theatre. 
The fame which he acquired by this comedy considerably extended 
the circle of his acquaintance ; but, however tempted by invitations 
from his elevated connexions, nothing could induce him to neglect 
the society of his family ; and as I was the most intimate of his pri- 
vate friends, and was always admitted, I am indebted to this domestic 
intercourse for many of the happiest days that I was ever destined 
to enjoy. 

I cannot deny myself the pride of stating, that after he had com- 
muned with his wife, who was a very sensible and intelligent critic, 
I was the first friend whom he consulted on the subject of his play, 

* Drury-lane tlieatre was then rebuilding, and the theatrical company had removed 
to the Italian Opera-house. 



MR. riohaudson. 231 

taiid I retain the letter which he wrote to me on the occasion from 
Broadstairs, whither he had retired for the purpose of giving it a final 
revision. The manuscript was transmitted to me. I read it with 
the zeal and caution of a friend, and returned it with a sincere tribute 
cf approbation, to the best of my judgment. 

As I wrote an account of Mr. Richardson in " The Monthly Mir- 
>TOT," a periodical work of well-merited repute, by desire of the pro- 
prietor, during the life of Mr. Richardson, and the biographical sketch 
which appears in the collection of his works, by desire of his widow, 
I need not prolong the subject in this place. 

For some years I generally dined with Mr. Richardson on New 
Year's day, and the only persons invited besides myself were Mr. 
Sheridan and Mr. Shield, the musician. On the last of these occa- 
sions, my present wife was one of the party ; and a pleasant day we 
-enjoyed, not without a feeling of regret on observing the evident de- 
cline in the health of our worthy host. On this occasion, Mr. Sheri- 
dan, from memory, recited the verses descriptive of some of his poli- 
tical connexions, which my friend Mr. Moore has introduced in his 
life of that great ornament of Enghsh literature. 

When the first wife of Mr. Sheridan .died at Clifton, Mr. Richard- 
son accompanied him, and witnessed the real tenderness and affec- 
tion with which he soothed and endeavoured to console her in her 
last moments, and the grief which he felt when death deprived him 
of so amiable and accomplished a partner. Mr. Tickel, when he 
was deprived of his wife, was also attended by Mr. Richardson on a 
similar mournful occasion. Mrs. ^Tickel was the beloved sister of 
the former lady, who, though not so attractive in person as Mrs. 
Sheridan, resembled her strongly in mental powers, accomplishments, 
^and disposition. Mr. Tickel, in the agonies of sudden grief, intended 
to have a tombstone raised at the place, and signified his resolution 
to inscribe it with his declared determination never to engage in 
wedlock again, but to continue during life wedded only to her 
remains. Mr. Richardson, who well knew the character of Mr. 
Tickel, persuaded him to defer this affectionate tribute to a future 
period, alleging that if the tribute to her memory were immediately 
lo be inscribed on the tombstone, it might be considered as onl}'' the 
effusion of temporary grief; but that if it were._delayed for a twelve- 
month, or a more distant time, it then would naturally be deemed 
the result of a settled conviction of her virtues, and a proof of his 
continued and durable affection. Mr. Tickel assented to this dis- 
cerning counsel of his friend, and a year or two afterward entered 
into a second marriage. 

Mr. Richardson continued to decline in health, and at length died 
on the 9th of June, 1803, in the forty-seventh year of his age, though, 
from the original vigour of his constitution, he might have been ex- 
pected to live to a green old age. This melancholy event took place 
at Virginia Water, near Egham, and he was buried in the churchyard 
of that town. His funeral was attended by Mr. Sheridan, by his old 
and constant friend Mr. Richard Wilson, bv the late Dr. Coorhbe, 



332 EECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

the physician, and myself. As an extraordinary circumstance occurred 
on this occasion, it may not be improper to relate it. 

The funeral ceremony was to take place at one o'clock in the day, 
but we did not reach the ground till a quarter after, and were sur- 
prised and grieved to find that the funeral rites had been performed. 
Mr. Sheridan was particularly affected, and traversed the church- 
yard in great anxiety. He said to me as we walked together, " Now 
this disappointment will be imputed to me, and it will be said in town 
by all our mutual friends, that it was owing to Sheridan's d — d negli- 
gence, which he could not shake off, even to pay respect to the 
-remains of his dearest friend." During this interval of anxiety, the 
clergyman who had performed the ceremony entered the church- 
yard. I left Mr. Sheridan, and inquired of the reverend gentleman 
what was the cause of this hasty interment, as greater latitude ought 
to have been allowed to friends who had to come twenty miles to 
attend on the mournful occasion, and who had arrived within a quar- 
ter of an hour after. The clergyman said it was owing to the under- 
taker, who alleged that he had another funeral to attend at a distant 
place. I then asked the clergyman if the ceremony could properly 
be repeated, as we were all. bitterly disappointed that we were pre- 
vented from testifying our grief by partaking in the last offices of re- 
spect to the remains of a valued friend. The clergyman seemed to 
pause, and as I knew that my interference could be little likely to 
affect him, I hastened to Mr. Sheridan, and told him there was a 
possibility that the ceremony might be repeated. Mr. Sheridan then 
ran to the clergyman, telling him who he was, and earnestly entreating,. 
if there were no impropriety in the measure, that the ceremony might 
again take place to satisfy the feelings of himself and his friends. 
The clergyman said that he was only the curate to his father, the 
vicar, and could not without authority comply, but would consult his 
father, and if he consented, return immediately, properly attired t© 
repeat the ceremony. In a few moments he appeared dressed for 
the occasion. We then adjourned to the church, in which the funeral 
service was partly performed, and the remainder at the side of the 
grave, without removal of the coffin. 

It is difficult to describe the sort of mournful exultation with which 
Mr. Sheridan said he could now venture to face his friends in London^ 
conscious that he had not failed in any respect to do honour to his 
departed friend. We dined at Bedfont on our return to town, and 
Mr. Sheridan entered into a eulogium on his deceased friend, of 
whom he spoke with sincere emotion and affecting eloquence. Mr. 
Sheridan and myself were set down at the end of Bond-street, in 
Piccadilly, and I accompanied him to his house in George-streetj, 
Hanover-square, now occupied by my friend Dr. Pearson. As soon 
as we entered Conduit-street, he manifested great emotion, and in the 
agony of his feelings struck his head against the door of the nearest 
house, exclaiming that he had lost his dearest friend, and there was 
now nobody who could enter into his domestic cares and be a con- 
fidential agent, when occasion might require, between himself and 



MR. RICHARDSON. 333 

Mrs. Sheridan. I endeavoured to sooth his feelings, and on parting 
with him at his own door, he designated me as " Joe Richardson's 
Legacy." 

I have been the more particular in stating these, I trust not unin- 
teresting facts, as they relate to two persons whose intellectual 
powers were of so high an order, and whose friendship, like that of 
Damon and Pythias, deserves to be recorded ; and also because my 
friend Mr. Moore, in his " Life of Sheridan," has not correctly 
recollected what I related to him on the occasion, when I had the 
pleasure of dining with him at Messrs. Longman and Co.'s for that 
purpose. I shall cite the whole passage, because it seems to reflect 
on the memory of Mr. Sheridan ; nor shall I, with affected modesty, 
omit that part which relates to myself, for who would not be proud 
of praise from Mr. Moore ? I have only to regret that I do not 
deserve it. 

" The death of Joseph Richardson, which took place in this year 
(1803), was felt as strongly by Sheridan as any thing can be felt by 
those who, in the whirl of worldly pursuits, revolve too rapidly round 
self to let any thing rest long upon their surface. With a fidelity to 
his old habits of unpunctuality, at which the shade of Richardson 
might have smiled, he arrived too late at Bagshot (Egham) for the 
funeral of his friend, but succeeded in persuading the good-natured 
clergyman to perform the ceremony over again. Mr. John Taylor, 
a gentleman whose love of good-fellowship and wit has made him 
the welcome associate of some of the brightest men of his day, was 
one of the assistants at this singular scene, and also joined in the 
party at the inn at Bedfont afterward, where Sheridan, it is said, 
drained the ' cup of memory' to his friend, till he found oblivion at 
the bottom." 

In justice to the memory of Mr. Sheridan, it is proper to state, that 
when we called to take him up at his house, on going to the funeral, 
he came to the door, and apologized for not going with us, as he said 
he was first obliged to wait on the Duke of Bedford, but that he 
would overtake us on the road. I who, as Mr. Moore says, well 
knew his " old habits," shook my head in doubt. Mr. Sheridan then 
said, " No — honour bright (a customary expression with him), you 
may depend on my overtaking you on the road ; and so h© did at 
Turnham Green, where he quitted his own carriage and entered 
ours ; and though at our return to Bedfont he certainly drank to the 
memory of his friend, it was to no unseemly excess. 

In some degree to relieve this grave recital, I cannot help stating 
that in going, when we changed horses at Hounslow, Mr. Sheridan 
said he would walk over the heath, as he enjoyed but little exercise. 
In proportion as the coach followed him, he quickened his pace, and 
at last, to prolong his exercise, he began to run ; and never did I see 
a more ludicrous sight than his figure, almost double, exhibited, while 
he continued to hasten his speed till the coach overtook him. 

The scene in the churchyard would have been diverting also on a 
less melancholy occasion ; for in our hurry to attend the melancholy 



S34 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

ceremony, not knowing it had already been performed, we put on the 
mourning cloaks without regard to their size, so that Mr. Sheridan had 
one that hardly reached to his knees, and Dr. Coombe, a very short 
man, had one so long that he trampled upon it, and nearly tumbled at 
every step. Naturally conversing on the subject of our departed 
friend in the coach as we returned, Mr. Sheridan expressed his deter- 
mination to write an epitaph on Mr. Richardson ; and Dr. Coombe, 
■who professed particular knowledge of stones, declared that he would 
select a durable one for the inscription. The epitaph, however, was 
never written, and the stone was never found.* 

After the death of Mr. Richardson I seldom saw Mr. Sheridan, and 
the last time I had the pleasure of being in company with him was at 
a tavern in Portugal-street, adjoining Clare market. I had been 
dining with my old friend Jesse Foot on the anniversary of his birth- 
day, and Mr. Sheridan having learned at my residence where I dined, 
sent a message to me about ten o'clock at night, importing that he 
wished to see me on particular business, at the said tavern. I rather 
offended my friend Foot by leaving him, but alleged the probability 
that Mr. Sheridan might really want me, and I was permitted to de- 
part. I naturally expected to find Mr. Sheridan alone, or with some 
confidential friend, but found the table surrounded by jovial spirits, 
who seemed determined to celebrate their orgies till a late hour. Mr. 
Richard Wilson was one of the party. His cellar adjoining his house 
in Lincoln's Inn Fields being conveniently near, and the tavern wine 
not being of the best order, Mr. Wilson abundantly supplied all that 
was wanted, and there was a call upon his bins till five in the morning, 
when the company separated ; Mr. Sheridan having been in remarka- 
bly good spirits, and more than usually inclined to colloquial exertion. 

I remember that speaking of a person who had pubUshed a pam- 
phlet against him, he said in the course of the night, " I suppose that 

Mr. thinks I am angry with him, but he is mistaken, for I never 

harbour resentment. If his punishment depended on me, I would 
show him that the dignity of my mind was superior to all vindictive 
feelings. Far should I be from wishing to inflict a capital punishment 
upon him, grounded on his attack upon me ; but yet on account of 
his general character and conduct, and a warning to others, I would 
merely order him to be publicly whipped three times, to be placed in 
the pillory four times, to be confined in prison seven years, and then, 
as he would enjoy freedom the more after so long a confinement, I 
would have him transported for life." 

The remainder of the sitting passed with jollity, without any allu- 
sion to politics, and though Mr. Sheridan- took the lead in wit and 
humour, yet he diffused a cheerful contagion round the rest of the 
company, and many sallies of merriment burst from other members 
of the party, who were previously known for talents and festivity. 

Mr. Sheridan, unhappily, was not reputed to be the most prompt 

* Mr. Richardson left a widow and four daughters. The mother and youngest 
daughter are dead, and I attended them to the grave, j 



MR. SHERIDAN AND MR. SHAW. 335 

and punctual of paymasters. He was indebted to Mr. Shaw, the 
leader of the band at Drury-lane theatre. Mr. Shaw, though a friendly, 
good-naiured man, tired with frequent applications without success, 
called on me, and said he wished to submit a statement of his situation 
and his correspondence with Mr. Sheridan to the public, observing 
that as it related to so conspicuous a character, it would attract much 
attention to any newspaper that contained it. He said that therefore 
he gave me the preference, requesting it might appear in " The Sun." 
He was highly incensed, and it was with great difficulty I persuaded 
him to let me write to Mr. Sheridan on the subject, and endeavour to 
procure an amicable arrangement, observing that, if he could not suc- 
ceed in his application, and the statement were published, he was not 
likely to be more successful after the matter appeared in print ; and 
that I should despise myself if 1 endeavoured to draw attention to my 
newspaper by exposing the differences of friends. At length he as- 
sented, and I wrote to Mr. Sheridan, who in his answer, which I have 
retained, desired me to appoint a meeting at my office between him 
and Mr. Shaw on the following Saturday. I accordingly wrote to 
Mr. Shaw for that purpose. Mr. Sheridan punctually attended at the 
appointed time, and I explained to him that any advantage which ray 
paper might derive from the publication could have no weight with 
me when his interest was concerned. His answer was so gratifying 
to me that I cannot deny myself the pleasure of mentioning it. " Oh," 
said he, " when you do an unkind thing, chaos is come again !" Mr. 
Shaw, perhaps conscious of the persuasive powers of Mr. Sheridan, 
or unwilling to appear as an enemy before one with whom he had long 
been in friendship, did not attend the meeting, but came soon after 
Mr. Sheridan, who had waited two hours, left the place, desiring me 
to appoint a meeting with Mr. Shaw for the following Tuesday. On 
this occasion the latter attended, but Mr. Sheridan did not. He how- 
ever sent Mr. Graham, a friend, to meet Mr. Shaw, and request him 
to accompany him to Sheridan's house, where the latter waited for 
him. These gentlemen went away together, and matters were set- 
tled, as I afterward understood from Mr. Shaw, who told me that he 
had been able to obtain by my intercession 400/. of his money. 

At a subsequent period Mr. Shaw applied to me again, in hopes 
that I might succeed upon a similar occasion. I immediately wrote 
to Mr. Sheridan, but heard no more of the matter, and therefore infer 
that a similar arrangement took place. Mr. Shaw, I understood, was 
brought into difficulty by accepting bills for a perfidious friend, and 
retired to France, where he still lives, and most probably is able to 
support himself by his musical talents, and is doubtless esteemed for 
his manly character and social disposition. As a proof of Mr. Shaw's 
friendly feelings, knowing that I was very fond of one of Vanhall's con- 
certos, he never saw me at the theatre without selecting that piece for 
the next performance in the orchestra between the acts ; and as I 
constantly expected it, I always remained to profit by his kindness. 

The last time I ever saw Mr. Sheridan I overtook him in Oxford- 
street, leaning on his servant's arm. I Joined him, and he dismissed 



336 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

his servant on a message, leaning on me till we reached the top of Bond- 
street. In the course of our walk I told him, that if he would accom- 
pany me to the place where I was then going, he would make an 
amiable and enlightened family happy. He asked me to whom I Was 
going, and I told him I was to pass the evening at Mr. Shee's. Mr. 
Sheridan expressed his regret that some friends were to dine with him 
at his house in Saville-row : " But tell Mr. Shee," said he, " that I am 
unluckily engaged, and add, that I esteem him as a friend, honour him 
as a poet, and love him as a countryman." 



CHAPTER XLVn. 

The late Dr. Bain, a truly amiable man and an acute and expe- 
rienced physician, of whose friendship I was proud, and whose mem- 
ory I revere, attended the last days of Mr. Sheridan, and when the 
sheriff's officers were sent by some unrelenting creditors to take Mr. 
Sheridan into custody, prohibited them from exercising their inhuman 
purpose on pain of being indicted for murder, as such an outrage in 
his present situation would certainly kill him, and they would only 
have his dead body to remove. The men were not so barbarous as 
to persevere, but retired. The doctor gave me an account of the last 
moments of ^Mr. Sheridan, and said that for a day or tvi^o before his 
death he was either too weak for utterance, or not disposed to make 
such an exertion. The doctor toid him that the Bishop of London 
was in the house, and asked him if he would permit his lordship to re- 
peat a short prayer by his bedside. BIr. Sheridan did not speak, but 
bowed assent. The bishop and the doctor then knelt by the bedside, 
when the former repeated a prayer, but the fervour of devotion ren- 
dered it much longer than the doctor expected. Mr. Sheridan ap- 
peared to be attentive during the whole. He closed his hands in the 
attitude of prayer, and bowed his head at every emphatic passage. 

A few days previous to Mr. Sheridan's death the late Mr. Taylor 
Vaughan came to the house, and addressing Dr. Bain, told him, as it 
was probable that Mr. Sheridan did not abound in money, he was com- 
missioned to present him a draft upon Coutts's for 200/., adding that 
more was at his service if required. The doctor said, that as he did 
not observe any appearance of want in the house, he could not take 
it without consulting Mrs. Sheridan. The lady, on hearing of this un- 
expected liberality, assured the doctor that she was fully sensible of 
the kindness of the donor, but must decline the intended donation, 
adding, that whatever the doctor might order for the relief of Mr. 
Sheridan should be fully supplied. The draft was then returned. It 
was understood that the draft was sent by his late majesty, who had 
graciously inquired into the state of Mr. Sheridan, and was distin- 
guished among the very few who were not indifferent to the fate of 
an old friend in his extremity. 



MR. SHERIDAN. SS"? 

ft would be unjust to Lord Holland and Mr. Rogers, the admired 
poet, if it were not mentioned that they visited Mr. Sheridan during 
his last illness, and that on the application of the latter to Mr. Rogers, 
that gentleman sent to him a draft for 150Z. in addition to previous 
pecuniary proofs of friendship. Lord Holland, however, insisted on 
paying half of that sum. As Mr. Moore has stated, on the funeral 
of Mr. Sheridan, 

The splendid sorrows that adorned his hearse, 

it is not necessary to add any thing upon that subject in this place. 

When the reports of Mr. Sheridan's illness became very alarming^ 
a letter appeared in " The Morning Post," drawing the attention of 
Mr. Sheridan's friends to his melancholy situation, without mentioning 
his name, but designating him in such terms as left no doubt to whom 
it related. The writer, citing the line above mentioned, concludes 
with the following passage : " I say life and succour against West- 
minster Abbey and a funeral." The letter was anonymous, but it is 
proper to state that it was written by Mr. Denis" O'Bryen, a gentle- 
man whose liberality generally exceeded his means, who was then 
not upon the most amicable terms with Mr. Sheridan, but who, as 
Mr. Moore says, " forgot every other feeling in a generous pity for 
his fate, and in honest indignation against those who now deserted 
him." 

Mr. O'Bryen was favoured by the friendship of Mr. Canning, and 
I have had the pleasure of meeting that gentleman at the house of the 
former. 

Mr. Sheridan, with all his great intellectual powers, was at times 
disposed to indulge in boyish waggery ; and Mr. Richardson told me, 
that passing over Westminster bridge with him, he had much diffi- 
culty in preventing him from tilting into the Thames a board covered 
with images, which an Italian had rested on the balustrades. Mr. 
Richardson had witnessed some playful exertions of this nature. He 
did so merely to excite surprise and fear in the owners, for he always 
amply indemnified them for any injury they might suffer. 

Upon one occasion, when a nobleman, who had heard much of 
the talents of Mr. Richardson, had desired Mr. Sheridan to invite 
him to the country seat, where the latter was then on a visit, and had 
received a letter stating that Mr. Richardson was unable to come, 
Mr. Sheridan kept up the expectation of the master of the house, 
and left the room pretending that he was going to write a letter. 
Having seen a good-looking man in the house, a visiter to the servants, 
Mr. Sheridan procured a suit of clothes belonging to the master of 
the house, had the man dressed in them, availed himself of the noise 
of a carriage, and formally introduced him as Mr. Richardson to the 
noble host. Mr. Sheridan had previously tutored the man not to 
speak, but to bow when any thing was addressed to him. The com- 
pany were struck with the rustic manner of the supposed Mr. 
Richardson, but thought that his conversation would amply compen- 



338 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

sate for any awkwardness in his deportment. The noble host was 
particularly attentive to his new guest, but, after many vain attempts 
to draw answers from him, he went to Sheridan, and expressing his 
disappointment, observed, that if Mr. Richardson had not so high a 
reputation, he should have thought he was a very stupid fellow, and 
had never been used to good company. Sheridan said, " Wait till 
you see him at supper, when the wine has warmed him, and then you 
will find that he fully deserves all the fame which his talents have 
excited." The nobleman, however, induced others of the party to 
address the pseudo-Richardson, and all endeavoured, with the same 
ill-success, to draw forth his powers. They all therefore agreed in 
considering Mr. Richardson as one of the dullest men they had ever 
met with, and in astonishment that so discerning a judge as Mr. 
Sheridan should be such a bigot to friendship. At length supper was 
announced, and the company were less prepared to enjoy the luxuries 
of the table than to witness the brilliant sallies of Mr. Richardson. 
Sheridan, however, thought that he had carried the joke far enough, 
and having contrived to get the countryman away, revealed his 
whimsical expedient, and by his own pleasantry atoned for the retire- 
ment of the rustic Richardson. 

Another time, when he had engaged Charles Fox, Tickel, and 
Richardson, to take a late dinner with him at Putney, in a house lent 
to him, I believe, by the father of the late Mr. Canning, he persuaded 
Charles Fox to muffle himself in a great coat, and he did the same, 
when they went on horseback, Tickel and Richardson going in a 
post-chaise. The purpose was to hover near the chaise, and to make 
Tickel and Richardson fear they were in danger of being attacked 
by highwaymen. The night was dark and favoured the joke, other- 
wise the size of Charles Fox might have betrayed him. He must, 
indeed, have appeared like Falstaflf, when concerned in the robbery at 
Gadshill. 

Richardson told me that he was persuaded by Sheridan to accom- 
pany him to Putney, with the assurance that Mrs. Sheridan was 
anxious to see him, that he had promised to bring him, and that Mrs. 
Sheridan was preparing a nice supper for him according to his taste. 
Sheridan knew that Richardson, though not inordinately attached to 
the pleasures of the table, was not however indifferent to them, and 
therefore frequently on the road congratulated Richardson and him- 
self on the good cheer which Mrs. Sheridan was preparing for them. 
When they reached Putney there was nothing in the house but bread 
and cheese, and about the fourth part of a bottle of port in the de- 
canter, nor had Mr. Sheridan any credit in the neighbourhood. 

Mr. Sheridan was certainly a good-natured man, and capable of 
great fortitude when occasion required. When Drury-lane theatre 
was destroyed by fire, the House of Commons adjourned, from 
motives of respect and sympathy, on account of the dreadful stroke 
which had fallen upon one of their distinguished members : contrary 
to the desire of Mr. Sheridan, who observed that the business of the 
country ought not to be interrupted and suspended by any private 



ME. SHEEIDANo 339 

loss. The measure, however, having been adopted, Mr. Sheridan 
retired to the Piazza Coffee-house to a soUtary dinner. Two of the 
principal actors of Covent Garden theatre w^ere dining together in a 
distant box, and having finished their repast, they agreed that it would be 
proper for them to approach Mr. Sheridan, and expressed their con- 
cern for the calamity which had happened. Hearing from them that 
they were going to observe the scene of devastation, he expressed 
his desire of going with them. They quitted the tavern, and mingled 
with the crowd, standing for some time at the end of the piazza in 
Russell- street. Mr. Sheridan looked at the blazing ruin with the 
utmost composure. At length the gentlemen expressed their surprise 
that he could witness the destruction of his property with so much 
fortitude. His answer, which was recited to me by both of the gentle- 
men in identically the same words, was as follows : " There are but 
three things that should try a man's temper : the loss of what was the 
dearest object of his affections — that I have suffered ; bodily pain, 
which, however philosophers may affect to despise it, is a serious evil 
— that I have suffered ; but the worst of all is self-reproach—that, 
thank God, I never suffered !" The last of these declarations may- 
be thought to be rather repugnant to the course of his life, yet I think 
it will admit of a satisfactory solution, according to the opinion of my 
friend Richardson, who w^as a very penetrating man, and could sound 
the depth of character with the utmost sagacity. 

It was the opinion of that gentleman, that Mr. Sheridan, before he 
was led into ambitious views, and tempted into the ensnaring vortex 
of fashionable life, had the most upright disposition ; and he used to 
declare as his solemn conviction, that, if Sheridan could be touched 
by a talisman into a man of fortune, he would immediately become 
a man of integrity and nice honour. As every thing relating to such 
a man as Mr. Sheridan cannot be wholly uninteresting, I may be per- 
mitted to mention the following circumstance. 

I had dined with Mr. Richardson, and by desire of Mr. Sheridan 
he had promised to bring me with him at ten o'clock to the Shak- 
speare tavern, in Covent Garden, where Mr. Sheridan said he should 
dine privately for the purpose of writing some letters. We attended 
at the appointed time, and found that Mr. Sheridan had just closed 
his correspondence. He seemed to have roused himself into unusual 
activity, for he had written about thirty letters, which he tied up in a 
handkerchief, and then resigned himself to conversation. He im- 
mediately, according to the terms of his invitation, ordered burned 
bones and claret. Theatrical matters, without any politics, consti- 
tuted the chief subject of conversation. In the course of the night, 
he lamented that he had not seen Mr. Garrick's performances as often 
as he inight have done : " But," said he, " my father had often told me 
that he himself was the best living actor, and as I had seen my father 
perform very often, I had no great curiosity to witness an inferior. 
When, however, I saw Garrick, I was so struck with his wonderful 
powers, that I omitted no opportunity of attending his performances. 
He soon after observed that Kemble was a very good actor, and that 



340 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

he thought even Garrick could not have performed Rolla so well. I 
ventured to ask him if this opinion did not savour of parental par- 
tiality in the author of that character. He contradicted this conjecture, 
and then I asked him if he would have written a monody on the 
death of Kemble. He said no, because Garrick was universally ex- 
cellent, but that Kemble, whatever might be his merit, was limited in 
his genius. 

Mr. Sheridan was averse to punning, to which I was perhaps at 
that time too much addicted, and resuming our conversation on 
Garrick, I asked which of Garrick's performances he thought the 
best ? " Oh !" said he, " the Lear, the Lear" Indulging my usual 
habit, I could not forbear to observe, " No wonder you were fond of 
a Leer, since you married an Ogle." He then mentioned the name 
of a notorious punster of our acquaintance, and said it was too bad 
even for him. Mr. Richardson was very attentive to Mr. Sheridan, 
but spoke little. I believe many will envy me the conversation of 
two such men, which I enjoyed till three in the morning. 



CHAPTER XLVni. 

Mr. Richardson I had introduced to Dr. Monsey's table at 
Chelsea, and they were conversing on the subject of the universe ; 
the doctor's manner of admitting the existence of a Supreme Being 
was in the following words : " I can't do without an intelligent agent.'" 
After all, what are the opinions of any human being ? The wisest 
can only form his opinion on the opinion of others, and they must be 
wholly made up of the habits, prejudices, inclinations, and passions of 
each individual. 

Monsey was an enemy to all forms, but was capable of very 
generous actions. He had a peculiar clock of a complicated descrip- 
tion, which required a skilful workman, perfectly acquainted with its 
structure, to regulate its movements when necessary. For this 
purpose he became acquainted with a Mr. Barber, a watch-maker, 
who lived in Dean-street, Soho, to whom he gave five pounds a year 
for that service. On those occasions Barber used to dine with him, 
and I was one day of the party. When Barber was upon the steps- 
performing his office on the clock, the doctor was sitting by the fire 
with his legs on the table, as he said he courted as much as he could 
the horizontal posture, in order to give less trouble to the blood in its 
travels through the body. While Barber was wholly absorbed in his 
business, Monsey said in a loud tone, " Barber, I don't believe you'll 
ever be able to pay me the lOOZ. that I lent to you." Barber turned 
round, raised -his spectacles on his forehead, and with ludicrous 
sincerity, as regular as the mechanism he had been handling, answered^ 
" Why really, doctor, I believe I never shall." " Well," rejoined the 



MR. WINDHAM — MR. BUREE. 341 

doctor, " if you cannot, I shall not ask for it." Neither of them was 
aware that any dehcacy was necessary in the presence of a third 
person. 

Another instance of Monsey's liberal disposition may tend to show 
that, however rough in manners, he was benevolent in his heart. 
Having heard that the late Mr. Windham, with whose father he had 
been intimate, had occasion for money at a particular period, Monsey 
called on him, and offered him the loan of any sum in his power, and 
for any period. Mr. Windham was surprised that Monsey had heard 
of his exigency, but accepted the loan of 500/., which was duly 
returned, but not without a struggle on the part of Monsey against 
receiving interest. 

Mr. Windham's father was, by Monsey's account, a stout resolute 
man, fond of athletic exercises, which propensity his son partly 
inherited. The only blemish on the character of the son was the 
cold unfeeling manner in which he spoke of Mr. Pitt, when the death 
of the latter was announced in the House of Commons, and a proposal 
was made for an adjournment on account of that melancholy event. 
But Mr. Windham was a fine, spirited British character, and an able 
statesman. 

The change in his character after he became conspicuous in 
politics is not unworthy of notice. When Sheridan, who was in- 
timate with him, was asked what sort of person he vi^as, his answer 
was, " Windham has a nice, delicate, refined, fastidious understanding.'" 
Those, I remember, were his very words. 

I was present at one of the annual celebrations at Chelsea Hospital 
(indeed at both) when Mr. Burke was paymaster, and the elder Mr. 
Boswell was present. The conversation turned upon Sir Joseph 
Mawbey. After some animadversion upon the peculiarities of that 
gentleman, and during a short pause among the company, Monsey 
said, " It is curious to contemplate the immense difference among 
human beings, beginning with Sir Isaac Newton, and descending to 
•Sir Joseph Mawbey." Boswell immediately said, " When you come 
to Sir Joseph you are not far from the pigs" (alluding to Sir Joseph's 
business as a distiller). " Yes," said Burke, " it is worse than the half- 
way-liouse." Young Burke, a delicate young man, added, " I have 
heard him called a pig of lead," and then the subject ended. But 
after all, however politic smight bias opinions, Sir Joseph Mawbey 
was considered by his friends as a public-spirited character, and a 
man of taste, and in the latter capacity has displayed his talents in 
many poetical effusions. But what will not party do to sour the 
temper and' corrupt the judgment I 

Sir George Howard was the governor of Chelsea Hospital at that 
time, and instead of giving scope to the powers of Mr. Burke, he 
hored the company with old military stories that are generally known, 
and much better related in all printed narrations. But he was the 
presiding authority, and as "a dog's obeyed in office," even the 
eloquence of a Burke, the playful exuberance of a Boswell, and the 



342 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

learned humour and odd eccentricities of a Monsey, were nullified by 
the garrulity of old age. 

My admiration of Mr. Burke would induce me not to mention what 
passed previous to the dinner, if it did not tend to illustrate human 
nature, and to show that the greatest characters are not exempt from 
human weakness. 

Mr. Burke, as paymaster, had some accounts to settle with the 
officers of Chelsea Hospital before dinner. When they were settled, 
he had to pass about ten yards in the open air to the dinner-hall. He 
had not to pass through what might even be deemed a mist, but the 
moment he entered he desired some brandy to rub upon his elbow, 
as he feared he might otherwise suffer from cold. Everybody was 
immediately on the alert to assist him. He pulled off his coat, 
(evidently a new one for the occasion,) gave the coat to one, pulled 
up his shirt-sleeve, dipped his fingers into the cup with brandy held 
by another, and contrived to employ every one somehow or other all 
the time he rubbed his elbow. He, however, amused his volunteer 
servants with some jokes during the operation; and the sportive 
condescension of so great a man, he being also the paymaster, seemed 
to be considered as a rich reward for their assiduity in his service. 

I should not have mentioned this trifling incident, if it did not 
correspond with a similar circumstance which I had heard many 
years before upon unquestionable authority, and if it did not develop 
in some degree the private character of Mr. Burke. On some im- 
portant debate which was expected in the House of Commons, Lord 
Kockingham was anxiously waiting for Mr. Burke, in order to hear 
what had passed, and when from the knocking at the door he had 
reason to believe that Mr. Burke had arrived, the noble lord could 
not restrain his solicitude, but actually went down into the hall to 
question him before he quitted the sedan-chair which conveyed him. 
Mr. Burke, instead of answering his noble patron, acted exactly the 
part of the nurse in Romeo and Juliet, when the young lady is im- 
patient to know what message the former had brought from her 
lover. Mr. Burke turned about in the sedan-chair, complained of 
the fatigue he had endured, declared that he was unable to answer, 
and kept Lord Rockingham in restless eagerness at the side of the 
chair till Burke thought proper to quit it. 

If this conduct, compared with the former instance, was not insolent 
pride, or at least gross affectation, to use the mildest term, it would 
be difficult to say what is. It may be asked what was Mr. Burke's 
motive ; and perhaps it may be said, that people who rise in the 
world above their hopes, whatever may be their abilities, like to 
reduce their superiors, and to drive from their minds all humiliating 
recollections of their original condition. Such was the case with my 
father's old friend Hugh Kelly, who, instead of introducing ordinary 
names in his female comic characters, styled them Hortensias and 
Theodoras, and made one of his dramatic gentlemen address a letter 
to another by the name of Craggs Belville, Esq. as I have before 



MR. BURKE. 343 

t)bserved. Poor Kelly could not help trying all expedients to efface 
every remembrance of the humility of his origin. 

The admirers of great talents, and particularly of Mr. Burke, can 
have no reason to be displeased with the record of these trifling 
incidents ; as they not only serve to develop human nature, but to 
console mankind in general for the vast superiority of those who 
seem as if they belong to a higher order of beings, though they must 
participate in all the infirmities of their fellow-creatures. 

There are, however, charges of a more serious kind which the pen 
of history will record, which cast an indelible stain upon the hfe of 
that illustrious statesman. 

It is evident from Mr. Burke's character, that he did not possess 
the feelings of a liberal and gentlemanly mind. His conduct towards 
Mr. Hastings may be cited as a proof. It has been said that a great 
man struggling with adversity is a sight worthy of the gods ; and 
why? Because it is to be supposed that the gods would look on him 
with pity, and with a disposition to remove his sufferings. Who can 
deny that Mr. Hastings was a great man ? and what could be a greater 
fall than, after having reigned with almost boundless authority in his 
Eastern government, to be reduced to the necessity of kneeling before 
a number of his fellow-creatures, and of receiving their permission to 
rise ? Did Mr. Burke emulate the gods in his treatment of this great 
man in adversity ? On the contrary, he treated him with the savage 
malignity of a fiend. 

I remember, when I was one day present in the House of Lords 
during the impeachment, Mr. Burke, after uttering the most abusive 
epithets against Mr. Hastings, made some assertion, which affected 
the latter so strongly, that human patience was exhausted, and in an 
audible whisper he, in merely a word, contradicted the virulent de- 
claimer. Mr. Burke happened to hear him, and immediately turning 
round, exclaimed with vehemence, "I care not what is said by the 
culprit at the bar ; he is in the condition of an ordinary culprit, who, 
when the officers of justice are conducting him through the streets to 
prison, insults every person who comes near him as he passes." This 
brutal insult seemed to excite general disgust, but that feeling did not 
mitigate the rancour of Mr. Burke. 

I was present at this scene of brutality, and was shocked to see 
the indifference with which Mr. Burke appeared to treat the general 
sentiments of the assembly, who seemed indignantly and deeply to 
feel the pitiable situation of the victim of his persecution. 

The following article I recently saw in a public newspaper, and I 
insert it literally in this place, to justify my opinion of Mr. Burke, not 
having the least doubt that it was founded on fact : — " The celebrated 
Edmund Burke was one of the members appointed by the House of 
Commons to enforce the charges of crime against Mr. Warren Hast- 
ings, and one day when he had been pouring out all his splendid talents 
in a rich display of oratory against the accused, he addressed the 
assembly of peers, ladies, and gentlemen, in the following terms: 
' When I look round this glorious circle, bright with all that is high in 



344 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

rank, all that is powerful in talent, all that is amiiible in virtue, all that 
is brilliant in beauty, and then turn my eyes to the criminal at the 
bar, my mind is convulsed with horror, and I sicken at the sight. 
The orator then placed his hands on the table before him, and dropped 
his head into them, as if overwhelmed by the dreadful contemplation.'* 

On coming out of Westminster Hall after this splendid oration, 
Burke could not find his carriage, and Lord Yarborough's having just 
drawn up, the peer offered to take him home. The ebullition of 
Burke's mind had not subsided, and on the way, without considering 
the indelicacy of appealing to one who was ultimately to pronounce 
judgment on the case, he proceeded to re-urge the arguments on his 
noble auditor, concluding Vi^ith the eager inquiry, " Do you not think 
this man a great criminal V Lord Yarborough, whose correctness 
of intellect was known to all who had the opportunity of knowing 
him, immediately answered, " Burke, all I can say at present is, that 
either you or Hastings deserves to be hanged, but I cannot now tell 
which of the two." This answer is as honourable to the noble lord 
as it is disgraceful to the person v^^ho gave occasion to it. But the 
whole persecution of Mr. Hastings arose from party feelings, if not 
wholly from the vindictive rancour of Mr. Burke. 

Mr. Cooke, a native of Cork, and a barrister-at-law, who came to 
this country in the year 1766, with letters of recommendation to 
the two Burkes, to Oliver Goldsmith, and other distinguished persons 
of that day, was particularly well acquainted with the characters of 
Edmund and Richard Burke, and he spoke of them with severe rep- 
robation. He said that he was once induced to accept a bill for the 
latter of forty pounds, to pay for some wine which the Burkes had 
jointly consumed. Richard Burke kept out of the way, and Cooke 
was threatened with arrest for the forty pounds, when he had not 
forty shillings at command. Feeling for his situation, the holder of 
the bill agreed to wait till Cooke had made application to Edmund 
Burke, that he might induce his brother to honour the bill. Edmund 
at first said that it was his brother's concern, though he had partaken 
of the wine ; but when Cooke, who at that time subsisted by his con- 
nexion with newspapers, and was a proprietor of one, threatened to 
make the matter public, Mr. Burke desired that he would send the 
creditor to him, and he would arrange the matter one way or other. 
Cooke did so, and never heard any more of the business. 

Mr. Cooke, whose veracity I had no reason to distrust, after an 
intercourse of nearly forty years, assured me that he always consid- 
ered the impeachment of Mr. Hastings as the result of personal ran- 
cour on the part of Mr. Burke, the reason of which has been already 
noticed. 

Mr. Burke, with all his talents, all his knowledge, and all the splen- 
dour of his reputation, had but a vulgar mind. What must be thought 
of the mere taste of a man, who spoke of Mr. Hastings " falling from 
his high estate," when he was in helpless submission before him, in 
the following terms : " He lay down in his sty of infamy, wallowing 



MR. BURKE. 345 

in the filth of disgrace, and fattened upon the offals and excrements 
of dishonour." 

Mr. Burke's pamphlet against the late Duke of Bedford was written 
more in the style of a carcass-butcher than of a gentleman. The 
duke had objected to the grant of an enormous pension to Mr. Burke, 
— and what were the merits that deserved it ? His bill for the reduc- 
tion of the national expenditure went upon abuses, the growth of time 
and negligence, which were generally mentioned, and which national 
wisdom and national necessity would have " known without a 
prompter," and would no doubt in due season have corrected. I do 
not pretend to be much of a politician, but presume to say, neverthe- 
less, of his famous " Reflections on the French Revolution," a work of 
more importance to society than any of his other compositions, that 
there was a great parade of speculative reasoning on those political 
theories of the French usurpers, which were too likely to be transient 
in duration to call for such elaborate discussion and excursive 
declamation. 

I remember, soon after the publication of this work, I had the 
pleasure of dining with Sir Joshua Reynolds at his house in Leicester- 
square, and the convivial disposition of the elder Mr. Boswell, who 
had not received his due proportion of wine, obliged the great artist 
to give us a supper. The party at dinner consisted of the late Lord 
Stowell, then Sir William Scott ; the late Mr. Courtenay, the Irish 
wit of the House of Commons ; the elder Mr. Boswell ; a nephew of 
Dr. Robertson, the historian ; and myself. After dinner, cards were 
introduced, and at the end of a few rubbers. Sir William and Mr. 
Courtenay retired, leaving Mr. Boswell, Dr. Robertson's nephew, and 
mj'^self. It was my wish to follow the example of those gentlemen 
and retire, not to break in upon the regular habits of our host, lest I 
should preclude myself from the chance of a future invitation to so 
very agreeable a society ; but Mr. Boswell assured me that Sir Joshua 
had ordered a supper from respect to the young Scotsman's uncle, 
and that I should be thought ungracious in leaving him to entertain a 
total stranger. I therefore remained without reluctance, as I wished 
as much as possible, consistently with propriety, to prolong my inter- 
course with our courteous, well-bred, and intelligent host. 

In the course of the supper, Mr. Burke's "Reflections on the French 
Revolution" happening to become a topic of conversation, I ventured 
to observe that I thought if Dr. Johnson had been alive, and had 
written on the subject, he would not have devoted so much time to 
the examination of evanescent theories, but would have treated the 
matter with a deeper knowledge of human nature, and more philo- 
sophical energy. Sir Joshua did not agree with me, but spoke highly 
of the work as a masterly effusion of political eloquence. With the 
highest respect for the judgment of the great artist, it may not be im- 
proper to observe, that he was a shrewd practical politician. It was 
a maxim with him, that praises of the dead were useless, and ought 
to be avoided when they were likely to offend the living. That the 
4ead were nothing and the living every thing. His policy therefore 



346 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

would probably have been puzzled, if Johnson had been living, and 
had employed his great powers on the same subject. 

With respect to the rumour that Burke vv^as Junius, it is certain 
that many passages in the letters of that spirited writer strongly re- 
semble passages in Burke, but the general style of the two authors 
seems to preclude the possibility of Burke's being able to reduce his 
expansive, flowery declamation to the systematic, terse, condensed^ 
emphatic, pointed, and sarcastic manner of the Great Unknown, under 
the shadow of a mighty name. Dr. Kelly, of Finsbury-square, has 
brought the suspicion nearer to Burke than any preceding writer ; 
though Mr. Taylor, the intelligent bookseller, has certainly raised a 
strong presumption in favour of the pretensions of Sir Philip Francis. 
Independently, however, of the difficulty of believing that Sir Philip 
had talents sufficient for the work, the dates of some of the letters^ 
and the situation of Sir Philip at the time of publication, render it a 
matter of impossibility. Perhaps, if the author were known, the 
charm would be dispelled ; but if he himself is to be believed, he never 
can be known, for he says, " I am the sole depositary of my own 
secret, and it shall perish with me." So that if it were ever to be 
really developed, it could not excite any confidence in opposition to 
the solemn declaration of the author. 

As the question of who was the author of Junius will be an in- 
teresting one as long as literature shall exist, I may be permitted to 
prolong the subject. It is evident that Junius was as artful as he was 
ingenious, intelligent, and eloquent. Though no man might more 
properly be trusted than my worthy old friend Mr. H. S. Woodfall, 
yet, as there could be no reason for trusting him, when Junius says 
that Mr. Woodfall may some time know him, and asked him to tell 
candidly if he guesses wdio he was, Junius is playing a trick, for he 
must have been conscious that he was wrapped in impenetrable 
mystery. And when he says that he had been governed by other 
people in writing contrary to his opinion upon a particular subject, he 
either forgot the declaration of his impenetrable secrecy, or again 
practised an artifice for some seci'et purpose. 

Some persons are born with a genius for artifice, as well as others 
for poetry, painting, music, &c., and Junius was one of the number. 
It is curious to observe the different manner in which he first speaks 
of our estimable monarch George the Third, and that in which he 
afterward treats him. In his first letter he says, " When our gracious 
sovereign ascended the throne, we were a flourishing and a contented 
people. If the personal virtues of a king could have ensured the hap- 
piness of his subjects, the scene could not have altered so entirely 
•as it has done. The idea of uniting all parties, of trying all charac- 
ters, and distributing the offices of state by rotation, was gracious and 
benevolent to an extreme, though it has not yet produced the many 
salutary effects which were intended by it. To say nothing of the 
wisdom of such a plan, it undoubtedly arose from an unbounded 
goodness of heart, in which folly had no share. It was not a capri- 
cious partiality to new faces; it was not a natural turn for low 



JITNIUS'S LETTERS — VOLTAIRE. 347 

intrigues ; nor was it the treacherous amusement of double and 
triple negotiations. No, sir, it arose from a continued anxiety in the 
purest of all possible hearts for the general welfare." 

After this high eulogium on the royal character, we find Junius 
representing the same excellent monarch as one of the worst men in 
his dominions, and for no other reason than that he did not adopt the 
measures recommended by Junius. 

The same inconsistency is observable respecting Wilkes. In his 
eighth letter, addressed to the Duke of Grafton, he says, referring to 
Wilkes, " Now, my lord, let me ask you, has it ever occurred to 
your grace, while you were withdrawing this desperate wretch, 
M'Quirk, from that justice which the laws had awarded, and which 
the whole people of England demanded against him, that there is 
another man loho is the favourite of his country, whose pardon would 
have been accepted with gratitude, whose pardon would have healed 
all our divisions ? Have you quite forgotten that this man was once 
your grace's friend ?" 

In his letter to the king, he speaks of Wilkes as " A man not very 
honourably distinguished in the world," whom he had before de- 
scribed as "the favourite of his country, whose pardon would 
have healed all our divisions." And in the same letter he says, 
*' Pardon this man the remainder of his punishment, and if resent- 
ment still prevails, make it, what it should have been long since, an 
act, not of mercy, but contempt. He will soon fall back to his 
natural station — a silent senator, and! hardly supporting the weekly 
eloquence of a newspaper. The gentle breath of peace would leave 
him on the surface, neglected and unmoved. It is only the tempest 
that lifts him from his place." " The favourite of his country !" 

Junius accused his majesty of having " affectedly renounced the 
name of Englishman," because his majesty George the Third had 
said, that he gloried in having been " born a Briton ;" meaning to use 
conciliatory language towards the people of " Great Britain" in 
general, and not to pay any peculiar compliment to those of the 
north. This is an insinuation unworthy of Junius. 



CHAPTER XLIX. 

Voltaire. This author, in his interesting Life of Charles the 
Twelfth of Sweden, relates the extraordinary visit of that monarch 
to the Elector Augustus at Dresden, before the former left Saxony, 
in a manner very different from what I heard it described by Dr, 
Monsey, who heard it from the Earl of Peterborough himself. 
Voltaire states, that while the king was in his camp at Altranstad, he 
was receiving ambassadors from almost all the princes in Christendom. 



348 RECORDS OF MY LITE. 

The Earl of Peterborough was at that time on a visit to the Swedish 
monarch, and he related the visit in the following manner : — 

" I had dined with the king in his tent," said his lordship. " He 
despatched his dinner in a few moments, and then left me to finish 
mine at my leisure, throwing himself upon a sofa, and reading in an 
old Bible, with brass clasps and hinges. As soon as I had finished 
my repast, which I hastened in imitation of his majesty, the king 
asked me if I was inclined to take a ride. As every thing that a 
kino- desires should, I thought, be complied with, at least in matters 
of that kind, I readily assented. After riding a few miles, we came 
near to a fortified town, which, as far as I recollected, seemed to me 
to be Dresden. I asked the king if I was right. He replied in the 
affirmative, and said he was going to pay a visit to Augustus. I was 
quite in a state of consternation, and lost in wonder at what would 
be the result of this singular expedition, after he had deprived the 
Elector of Saxony of the throne of Poland, and otherwise treated 
him with great severity. 

" When the king entered the court-yard of the palace, attended by 
me and a slight guard, he was immediately knov/n by an old Sclavo- 
nian, who had served under him in Sweden. The man immediately 
wave the alarm, and all %vas bustle and confusion in the palace. 
Charles dismounted, and at once entered the palace, desiring to see 
the elector, who immediately appeared, and after a few words asked 
him to dine with him, and me also, when I was announced. A 
repast was hastily prepared, and we sat at the table. The first dish 
was soup, and while the king was lifting the spoon to his mouth there 
was a great • noise on the stairs, resembling the clatter of arms, i 
observed that, as soon as he heard the noise, he shifted his spoon into 
his left hand, and instantly put his right hand on his sword. The 
noise was soon discovered to be nothing but the jostling of silver 
dishes, and then he cautiously shifted his spoon to his right hand. 
The repast was soon ended, when he took his leave, and there was 
great courtesy on both sides. 

"As we were returning, we met a large body of Swedish troops, 
headed by one of his favourite generals, who, thinking his sovereign 
had been surprised and made prisoner, were advancing to rescue 
him from his enemies. Finding that all was safe, they returned, after 
receiving the royal thanks for their zeal and promptitude. As we 
returned, I could not help telling the king that I noticed his conduct 
at the table when the noise occurred, observing that, however brave 
and skilful he might be, he could not have contended against num- 
bers. He said in answer, that ' had any armed men entered the 
room, he had resolved first to cut down Augustus, and then leave the 
rest to fate and fortune.' " 

This account is more characteristic of the monarch than that of 
Voltaire, and as well as I can recollect, Dr. Monsey told me that he 
either received it fi'om Lord Peterborough himself, or Dr. Friend, 
who wrote an apology for his lordship ; but as Dr. Monsey knew 
both, it is probable he had the authority of both. 



CHAKLES XII. FRANCIS NEWBERY, ESQ. 349 

Charles the Twelfth was the favourite hero of Dr. Monsey, who 
used to say that " though he was a coward himself, he always loved 
bravery." He told me that while he was in Norfolk, some foreigners 
visited the place with a puppet-show", and among them w^as an old 
Livonian soldier, who had served under the King of Sweden. 
Anxious to knov/ something of his favourite hero, the doctor asked 
the man if he could recollect any thing respecting him. The man 
said all he could remember was, that a bomb-shell once burst very 
near to them both, and that he ran some paces aw-aj', but the king 
remained on the spot. Charles called to him and asked him why he 
ran, and the man answered that he was afraid of the bomb. The 
king made no reply, but the man added that he sanv him lift his hands, 
and heard him say to himself, " Would I knew wdiat fear is !" 

As this anecdote \vas not likely to be the invention of an ignorant 
old soldier, it may be received as a genuine trait of the character of 
the Alexander of the north.* After all, Charles was a savage hero. 
He cared nothing for the lives of his soldiers when his ow^n ambition 
■was concerned, however desperate his situation, or how many soever 
•were " killed off" to use an expression of the late Mr. Windham, not 
much to the honour of his feelings. Charles's treatment of Patkul 
was an act of monstrous cruelty, which nothing but insanity could 
palliate. It was an act of deliberate ferocity that will always stamp 
sn odium on his character. Bis behaviour also to the Turks at 
Bender was characterized by ingratitude, folly, and even madness. 
How would he have felt if he could have peeped into the book of 
fate, and have seen the throne of his heroic ancestors occupied by a 
subaltern of a revolutionary French army ! 

Francis New^bery, Esq. With this gentleman I became acquainted 
through the medium of my friend Sir Francis Freeling, who married 
bis daughter. He w^as a scholar and a poet, and also a musician, or 
rather a lover of music, for as an instrumental performer I am not 
acquainted with his skill. He was a great admirer of Dr. Crotch, 
whose taste, judgment, and professional skill are well known. Mr. 
Hewbery made many translations of the classical authors, particularly 
Horace, in which, as far as I can presume to judge, he fully entered 
into the spirit of the author. He also wrote many original compo- 
sitions, which w^ere set to music by Dr. Crotch and his other friend 
Mr. William Shield, whose moral qualities and professional talents 
he held in the highest esteem. He was also very much attached to 
the late Mr. Bart le man, the admirable classical singer, as he may 
fairly be styled, since his manner of singing w^as at once learned and 
ampressive. 

Mr. Newbery kindly invited me to his private and select concerts 
at his house in St. Paul's churchyard, where the charms of music, 
and his lively and intelligent conversation, constituted an exquisite 
repast. His amiable and accomplished daughter was the second 

* Voltaire relates a similar event, and probably it may be the same, though without 
Charles's exclamation, which was not likely to be heard, except by the soldier who 
was so near to him. 



350 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

wife of the present Sir Francis Freeling, and a more pleasing, un- 
affected, and intelligent lady I never knew. Mr. Newbery was the 
son of the eminent and respectable bookseller, who purchased a part- 
nership in the celebrated fever-powders of his friend Dr. James, and 
sold them in conjunction with the doctor's son for many years, till 
some untoward circumstance divided them. Mr. Newbery was very 
playful in conversation, as well as judicious and erudite, and though 
reputed to be a good scholar, was perfectly free from an ostentatious 
display of learning, but seemed chiefly anxious to excite conviviality 
and good-humour. 

Mr. Newbery, not long before his death, unluckily perhaps for both 
parties, separated from his partner in the sale of Dr. James's medi- 
cines, a circumstance which induced me to write a poetic trifle, 
which I shall not insert in this place, satisfied that it received the ap- 
probation of my friend the late Francis Newbery, whose friendship 
was an honour. 

Andrew Bain, M.D. This gentleman was a member of the 
College of Physicians, and one of the most eminent practitioners in 
London. Before he settled in London, he acquired a high reputation 
at Bristol Hot Wells. He had attended the first wife of Mr. Richard 
Brinsley Sheridan with so much kindness, assiduity, and solicitude, 
that on the death of that accomplished lady at that place, Mr. Sheri* 
dan, though by no means in affluent circumstances, sent to him a 
hundred pounds, enclosed in a letter, expressive of respect and gra- 
titude,— a proof, as I have before said, that Mr. Sheridan only wanted 
the means to be just, honourable, and benevolent. 

Dr. Bain, by all accounts, was a profound and elegant scholar, of 
which he gave ample proofs in some Latin dissertations on medical 
subjects. The doctor had a son and two daughters. The son I had 
the pleasure of knowing. He was bred to the church, and had a 
living at about the distance of a mile from his father's residence at 
Heffleton, in Devonshire ; and this contiguity of the benefice enabled 
the family to be almost as often together as if they inhabited the same 
mansion, and a more happy family never existed. The son was 
learned and affectionate, and the daughters highly amiable and accom- 
plished. In the midst of this cordial felicity, a disastrous event oc- 
curred ; Mr. Bain and a Mr. Bosanquet were taking an excursion on 
an adjacent river, when the boat was overturned, and both gentlemen 
perished. To augment the calamity, this melancholy catastrophe 
happened within the sight of the two sisters, who were walking near 
the spot. It would be impossible to describe the misery of the father 
when he heard the lamentable tidings ; he never was able to recover 
his spirits, and died within a few years after this fatal deprivation. 

Another calamity happened in the family a few years after. Dr. 
Bain's sister was married to Mr. Hardie, a gentleman who held a 
situation in the East India House, in which he conducted himself 
with so much propriety, that on his retirement he not only enjoyed 
a liberal pension, but was presented with a large sum for his faithful 
and useful services. This gentleman's foot happening to slip as he 



DR. BAIN— MR. CHRISTIE. S5l 

was going up stairs, he fell backwards, and was killed on the spot. 
I knew him well ; he was amiable, intelligent, and good-humoured. 
His widow, whom I have the pleasure of knowing, felt an irreparable 
and inconsolable loss by the death of this worthy man, but her piety 
and benevolence enabled her to sustain it with fortitude. By her 
intimate connexion with her brother, and his kind attention and in- 
structions, she possesses great medical knowledge and judgment, and 
by her good sense and experience, she is an agreeable and instructive 
companion. 

Before Dr. Bain retired from his profession, and settled at his seat 
in Devonshire, he invited me to dine with him, for the purpose of 
introducing me to Mr. Charles Sheridan, the son of Mr. R. B. Sheri- 
dan, as one of the old friends of his father. Mr. Charles Sheridan 
inherits in a great degree the talents of his father. He has travelled 
into Greece, and has published a very intelligent tract upon the pre- 
sent situation of that country, and on the hopes, expectations, and 
prospects of the descendants of its ancient sages, heroes, and poets, 
whose history, real and fabulous, will always render them the delight 
of mankind. 

The late Mr. Christie. With this gentleman, who was fully en- 
titled to that designation, I had the pleasure of being acquainted many 
years, and a more respectable character I never knew. Besides 
being possessed of an excellent understanding, which would probably 
have enabled him to make a distinguished figure in any walk of life, 
I should venture to say that he was peculiarly fitted for the profes- 
sion which he adopted. There was something interesting and per- 
suasive, as well as thoroughly agreeable in his manner. He was very 
animated, and it may be justly said, eloquent, in his recommendation 
of any article that he announced from his " Rostrum," as well as in 
occasional effusions of genuine humour. He was courteous, friendly, 
and hospitable in private life, and was held in great esteem by his 
numerous friends, among whom there were many of high rank. 

It was reported, and I believe truly, that he lost considerable pro- 
perty by his confidence in Mr. Chace Price, a gentleman well known 
in the upper circles of his time, and more admired for his wit and 
humour than for the strictness of his moral principles. It was under- 
stood that Mr. Christie's loss by this gentleman amounted to about 
five thousand pounds; and this event afforded an additional proof of 
the generous feelings of Mr. Garrick, who, hearing of the loss and of 
the high character of Mr. Christie, though but little acquainted with 
him, with great delicacy offered to accommodate him with the full 
amount of his loss, if his consequent situation rendered such assistance 
necessary or expedient. Whether Mr. Christie had occasion to avail 
himself of this liberal offer, I know not, but that it was tendered is 
certainly true, and it corresponds with the testimony in favour of 
Mr. Garrick's benevolent disposition, as given by Dr. Johnson, by 
Mr. Smith the actor, in several of his letters to me, and by my late 
friend Mr. Arthur Murphy. 

Though Murphy was very often involved in dramatic squabbles 

Q2 



35!2 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

with Garrick, and used to speak of him in very harsh terms, yet he 
always admitted that he was the greatest actor in the world, and also 
that he was benevolent and generous in private life. 

As a proof of the estimation in which Mr. Christie's character was 
held, particularly by the great Earl of Chesterfield, a nobleman dis- 
tinguished for his intellectual powers and knowledge of mankind, as 
well as for the polish of his manners, I relate the following fact, which 
was told to me by my late esteemed friend Sir Francis Bourgeois. 
Mr. Christie had a particularly valuable collection of pictures to dis- 
pose of, most of v/hich were of very high reputation abroad. Anxious 
that this collection should be distinguished from those of less celebrity, 
he waited upon the Earl of Chesterfield, to whom he had the honour 
of being known. It happened that the earl had seen many of the 
pictures in question during his travels. Mr. Christie told his lordship 
how anxious he was that these pictures should excite the attention 
which they deserved, and he requested that his lordship would con- 
descend to look at them. His lordship promised to attend the pub- 
lic view, and gave Mr. Christie leave to announce his intention among 
his friends, or wherever he thought proper, and in order to give eclat 
to the occasion he promised to come in state. On the day appointed, 
therefore, the room was crowded in the expectation of seeing this 
venerable and celebrated nobleman, who arrived in a coach and six 
with numerous attendants. The company gave way and afforded 
a convenient space for his lordship. He was attended by Mr. 
Christie, who took the liberty of directing his lordship's attention to 
some pictures, and requested to be favoured with his opinion of the 
chief productions in the room. The earl, who came merely to serve 
Mr. Christie, spoke in high terms of several of the pictures which 
he had seen on his travels, and also of others pointed out to him by 
Mr. Christie, as if they were equally recollected by him. The audi- 
tors pressed as near as respect for his lordship would permit them, in 
order to hear and circulate his opinions. After remaining in the room 
till the purpose of his visit was fully accomplished, to the gratification 
of the company, his lordship, gracefully bowing, retired in the same 
state, accompanied to his carriage by Mr. Christie ; and the result 
was, that the additional reputation which the collection acquired by 
his lordship's condescension in supporting tliis ingenious expedient, 
enabled Mr. Christie to sell it to the best advantage. It need not to 
be observed, that if Mr. Christie had not been held in much esteem 
by his lordship, the earl would hardly have been induced to act this 
kind and condescending part in his favour. It may not improperly 
be said that Lord Chesterfield himself derived some advantage on 
this occasion ; for in addition to his high character as a statesman 
and a wit, it also gave him the reputation of a judicious connoisseur, 
as well as that of a condescending patron. 

I remember calling on Mr. Christie one morning, just before he 
^as going into his great room to dispose of an estate. Always alive 
to the interest of his employers, he requested that I would act as a 
bidder. I observed, that if any of my friends happened to be present 



MR. CHRISTIE SIR HOME POPHAM, 353 

they would laugh if they saw me come forward on such an occasion, 
and that, as it would be totally new to me, I should commit some 
blunder. He however repeated his request, and I assented. It 
happened as I apprehended, for I made a bidding beyond that of a 
bona fide purchaser, who would go no farther, and the estate was 
knocked down to me. I apologized for my blundering ignorance, 
which Mr. Christie treated with his usual good-nature and affability, 
and insisted on my staying to dine with the family. 

Mr. Christie was loyal and firm in his political principles, and 
moral and just in his private conduct. I have not only had the plea- 
sure of dining with him at his own house, but of meeting him at 
other tables, where he was treated with the respect and attention to 
which he was fully entitled by his good sense, general intelligence, 
and courteous demeanour. He had two sons, one of whom went iu 
a military character to the East Indies, where, 1 understand, he died 
in the service of his country. He was a very fine young man. 

Of the present Mr. Christie, who inherits the profession and the 
disposition of his father, it is proper that I should speak with reserve, 
lest I should offend his delicacy by what his diffidence might con- 
sider as unmerited panegyric ; nor is it necessary, as he has obliged 
the world with some publications which not only demonstrate his 
learning, judgment, and deep research, but which are marked by un- 
affected piety. Indeed, I heard that he was educated for the church, 
of which, from his classical attainments and the purity of his morals, 
he would doubtless have proved a distinguisiied ornament. He holds 
a very high rank in his profession, and is mentioned with great re- 
spect by all his competitors. I have long had the pleasure of being 
acquainted with him, and number him among the most valuable of my 
friends. It is with pleasure I add, that he is favoured with the friend- 
ship of many persons of high rank, as well as with that of many of the 
most learned and enlightened members of the church. The late Mr. 
Christie had been twice married. His son is the issue of his first 
marriage, and his widow is living with a respectable competency. 



" CHAPTER L. 

The late Sir Hosie Popham, and the late Sir Thomas Boijlden 
Thompson, were among my juvenile friends. The talents and valour 
of Sir Home are well known to the world at large, but it is not 
equally known that with all his ardour for his profession, and his 
skill in naval tactics, evident in some signals which he invented, and 
which I understood were highly approved, he was a good general 
scholar. I once wrote a poetical epitaph on a late great admiral of 
merited professional eminence, but of a stern, vindictive, and unre- 
lenting character, a copy of which was often requested by some of 



354 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

my naval and other friends, but from a regard to my own personal 
security always refused. It was, however, so eagerly desired, that 
I was often requested to read it in company, and therefore at that 
time generally carried a copy in my pocket. On one occasion, after 
I had read it, a friend endeavoured to snatch it from me, and his wife 
knowing his wishes, made the same attempt ; but as their hands 
struck against each other, I v/as able to rescue my manuscript, and 
from that time I only carried the first word of each line, relying upon 
my memory for the rest, and used to repeat the whole without the 
danger of a seizure. 

Sir Home Popham used to call on me occasionally to hear it, and 
one morning while 1 was reading it to him, I observed that he was 
writing during the time on a piece of paper before him, and appre- 
hending that he was taking my lines in short-hand, I stopped, and 
looking at what he was about, found that he was actually taking it in 
Greek characters to disarm my suspicion. 

I may be thought extremely vain in thus recording my trifle, but 1 
may appeal to my old and worthy friend Sir Francis Hart well, whose 
friendship I have the pleasure to retain, whether such was not its in- 
fluence at the time. Sir Home Popham's friendship with me con- 
tinued to his death, by which I lost a valuable companion, and the 
nation a gallant and able officer. And now for a proof of the uncer- 
tainty of friendship. 

I was equally intimate with, and attached to Sir Thomas Boulden 
Thompson. He was the reputed nephew of Captain Thompson, 
generally called Commodore Thompson, a gentleman of agreeable 
manners and well-known literary talents. He was the author of 
many admired compositions in verse and prose ; and he published a 
correct and valuable edition of the works of Andrew Marvel, proving 
that the well-known ballad of " Margaret's Ghost" was written by 
that sturdy and disinterested patriot, and not by Mallet, who usurped 
the reputation ; as also that admirable hymn beginning with 

The glorious firmament on high, 

which Addison introduced into " The Spectator," without claiming 
the merit of writing it, but nevertheless, leaving the world to con- 
sider it as his composition. 

Sir Thomas told me more than once, that though he was generally 
reputed to be the nephew of Captain Thompson, he knew of no other 
father, — a proof, at least, that the captain had been a truly affection- 
ate uncle. Sir Thomas, during our early acquaintance, resided at 
Epsom, and was frequently in the habit of sending^ me game. He 
often said, that if he ever became an admiral, I should be his secre- 
tary, if no better prospect offered. After his gallant and skilful 
conduct at the battle of the Nile, he again resided at Epsom, and I 
remember that when he sent me a hare, in returning my thanks I 
said in my letter, that I should think I was eating a lion, and hoped 



SIR T. B. THOMPSON — -MR. FRANKS. 355 

that it would inspire me with such valour as he had displayed in the 
service of his country. 

When he called on me after the battle of Copenhagen, and I saw 
his wooden leg, I could not help shedding tears to see a friend so 
disabled ; but forcing a smile, I said, " There's now an end to my sec- 
retaryship." " Why so V said he ; " if I am again employed as an 
admiral, I shall keep my promise." He soon after became comp- 
troller of the navy-board, and meeting him at the Admiralty, I asked, 
if he could give any situation to compensate for my disappointment as 
eecretary. He told me that he had no power, as the Admiralty en- 
grossed all the patronage ; and from that time our friendship ended. 
When I met him afterward, he gave me a slight bow, and at last we 
used to pass each other as if we had never been acquainted. I could 
not but regret that so manly a character, and so gallant and able an 
officer, was not superior to the pride which arose from his gradual 
elevation, and the consequent disparity of my condition. Alas ! for 
poor human nature ! 

Mr. Franks. This gentleman, whom I knew many years ago, 
was of the Jewish persuasion, but with a truly Christian disposition. 
He was, I believe, a merchant before I knew him, but had retired 
from business, and resided at Mortlake. He was so highly esteemed 
in that village and the neighbourhood, that he was chosen church- 
warden, an office which he willingly assumed and discharged in such 
a manner as fully to confirm and augment the reputation he had ac- 
quired. He was very fond of music, and a good judge of musical 
performers. I heard him relate the following anecdote, at the table 
of my old friend the Rev. Richard Penneck. 

Mr. Franks said, that an admirable performer, named Dupuis, 
came from Paris with an introduction to him as a patron of music ; 
that Dupuis was one of the finest, if not the best, performer on the 
violin he had ever heard. His talents soon procured him an intro- 
duction into the best societies, and the patronage which he expe- 
rienced enabled him to live in a very splendid manner. After ac- 
quiring a high reputation and good connexions, he was suddenly 
missed, and nobody could tell what had become of him. A few 
years passed and his skill was not forgotten, nor curiosity as to his 
fate much abated. At length Mr, Franks had almost ceased to re- 
member and to inquire about him. Happening to pass through the 
place where May Fair was formerly held, at the fair-time, he heard, 
the sound of a violin in a common public-house, where a show was 
exhibited. Struck by the admirable skill of the performance, he ven- 
tured into the house, and immediately recognised his old favourite 
Dupuis, who knew him also, but did not affect to conceal himself. 
When he had concluded his solo, Dupuis, who had been so great a 
beau, and who then was attired in a very shabby garb, like a low 
workman, retired into a back-room with Mr. Franks, and addressed 
him as follows : — " My old and esteemed friend, you may naturally 
wonder to see me in such a place and in such humble attire, but the 
secret is this ; I am in love with the daughter of the man who is exhib- 



356 KEC'OEDS OF MY LIFE. 

iting a show in this house, and while 1 appear on a level with herself^ 
I have (Some chance of her favour ; but if I were to appear like a gen- 
tleman, all my hopes would be at an end, and her smiles would be 
transferred to some vulgar rival. But I begin to be disgusted with 
this degrading state ; I shall try my fortune with the family a few 
days longer, then assume my former rank in society, and you shall be 
the first person to whom I shall pay my respects." 

Mr. Franks said that he was of course satisfied with this explana- 
tion, and parted from him, not surprised at the transformations v^hich 
3ove produces in gods, according to the poets, as well as men, and. 
confidently expected to see Dupuis in a few days, after he had con- 
quered or gratified his passion. But no Dupuis appeared, and Mr. 
Franks therefore went to the public-house, in order to discover some 
clew to him. The fair had been ended some days, and the landlord 
could not give any information respecting the amorous minstrel, nor 
did Mr. Franks ever hear of him again. Judging from his altered 
manners, as well as his mean attire, Mr. Franks inferred that he 
had sunk in life, that he had become I'econciled to the grovelling con- 
dition to which he was reduced, but that his story Avas a mere pre- 
tence, as he saw no beauty there that could be supposed to ensnare 
him. Mr. Franks concluded with saying, that Dupuis had no occa- 
sion to withdraw himself from creditors, as his talents provided him 
the power of living like a gentleman. 

Mr. John Reeves. The country, in my humble opinion, was 
deeply indebted to this gentleman, who came resolutely forward at a 
very critical period, when certain aspiring demagogues were attempt- 
ing to introduce the revolutionary principles of France into England^ 
and when the language of some of the public journals strongly abetted 
their rebellious intentions. At this momentous crisis, he stood forth 
as the champion of the British constitution. He convened a meeting 
of loyal men, and formed a committee at the Crown and Anchor 
tavern, in the Strand, for the purpose of circulating tracts to coun- 
teract the insidious and anarchical principles of revolutionary France. 
This loyal society held frequent meetings at that tavern, and dissem- 
inated innumerable pamphlets, calculated to refute the sophistical doc- 
trines of the French orators, and our democratical writers, and to 
guard the British people against the impending danger. My late 
friends Mr. John Bowles and Mr. William Combe, were the authors 
of many of these pamphlets, which were widely diffused at the ex- 
pense of the committee at the Crown and Anchor tavern. 

Mr. Bowles published a tract, written with great vigour and ele- 
gance, which he entitled " A Protest against Paine." Mr. Combe 
wrote another entitled "A Word in Season ;" and also, " Plain Thoughts 
of a Plain Man, with a word, en passant, to Mi\ Erskine," afterward 
Lord Erskine, who had been ensnared by French doctrines, and had 
published a pamphlet in support of their principles. Mr. Reeves also 
at the same period published his four letters, addressed to the quiet 
good sense of the people of England. They were written with great 
vigour, sound reasoning, and contained much historical illustration. 



MR. JOHN REEVES — MR. JOHN BOWLES. 357 

Perhaps he treated too lightly the hereditary and representative 
branches of the British constitution, but he powerfully maintained 
that it was founded on the basis of monarchy. 

Mr. Sheridan hastily condemned these letters, and instigated a pros- 
ecution against the author, who, however, was acquitted hj the laws 
of the land. It is to be regretted that Mr. Sheridan came forward 
so indiscreetly on this occasion, as on other points in which his party 
had supported dangerous measures, he acted with an independent 
spirit, and was styled " the glorious exception." He was too indolent 
and too prone to personal indulgences to have studied the constitution 
with the zeal and assiduity with which Mr. Reeves explored its na- 
ture, and became profoundly conversant with its essential principles. 

Mr. Reeves was the author of many legal and political tracts, and 
was through life distinguished for zealous loyalty. He was at West- 
minster school, and afterward at the university of Oxford, at the time 
when Mr. Combe was at the latter place. Mr. Reeves was very 
rich and very liberal. He adopted the son of his friend Mr. Brown, 
an old fellow-collegian, supported him in his own house, and took the 
trouble of teaching him Greek. The boy, however, proved a dissi- 
pated and worthless character, and was thrown into the Fleet prison by 
his creditors. Mr. Reeves released him at the expense of 1500/., and 
took him again into favour ; he died soon after, but if he had lived and 
reformed, he would probably have inherited the bulk of Mr. Reeves's 
large fortune. 

1 must here say something more of my friend Mr. John Bowles. 
I had the pleasure of being acquainted with him very early in life, 
and always found him firmly loyal and honourable. We both at the 
same time frequented an oratorical club, styled the Robin Hood Soci- 
ety, held in Butcher-row, Strand. Mr. Bowles, who was then pre- 
paring himself for the bar, often spoke at that place, and was heard 
with respect. My other old friend, the present Mr. Justice Garrow^ 
who had then the same views, was also one of the most distinguished 
orators at that society, and powerfully displayed those talents which 
have since rendered him so conspicuous at the bar, and raised him 
to his present well-merited elevation. 

Before our time the president of the society had been a Mr. Jacocks, 
a baker, in Soho. He was a man of profound sagacity. After the 
several speakers had delivered their sentiments, he summed up the 
arguments of the whole, and concluded with declaring his own opin- 
ion upon the subject in discussion : and always received the warm 
acclamations of the audience. The great Earl of Chesterfield fre- 
quently attended this society incog., attracted chiefly by the abilities 
of the president, whom I have heard it said, he pronounced to be fit 
for a prime minister. My father, who was well acquainted with the 
abilities of Mr. Jacocks, though not personally known to him, once 
pointed him out to me in the street. I recollect him well, and never 
saw a more venerable figure. His house is still occupied by a baker, 
and is situated very near Monmouth- street. 

Mr. Bowles, conceiving that the danger, though suspended, was not 



358 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

at an end, continued to publish many works in support of the British 
constitution ; but at length, modestly thinking that his name was too 
often before the public, sent forth his latter works anonymously. He 
■was appointed one of the Dutch commissioners, and devoted his time 
to the investigation and arrangement of the complicated subject in 
discussion. The commissioners were charged with unnecessary de- 
lay, and even of deriving undue pecuniary advantages from a prolon- 
gation of the inquiry, but Mr. Bowles came forward in defence of him- 
self and colleagues, and published a satisfactory vindication. 

In justice to a gentleman named Jennings, who brought the charges, 
it is proper to mention, that he also published a pamphlet, in which he 
liberally acknowledged that he was mistaken, and had proceeded upon 
erroneous grounds. 

Mr. Bowles was very intimate with Mr. Reeves and Mr. George 
Chalmers, and I had several times the pleasure of accompanying those 
gentleman to dine with him on his retirement to Dulwich, conveyed 
in Mr. Reeves's carriage. I remember with much pleasure these oc- 
casions, as we were highly gratified by Mr. Bowles and his amiable 
lady. Mr. Bowles was warmly attached to Mr. Pitt. From motives 
of old friendship, and sympathy of political principles, he bequeathed 
one hundred pounds to me in his will, and Mrs. Bowles also favoured 
me with a mourning-ring, as a confirmation of the friendship of her 
lamented husband. 

• Mr. William Shield. Perhaps there never was an individual more 
respected, esteemed, and admired than this late eminent composer. 
With a shrewd, intelligent, and reflecting mind, and a manly spirit, 
there was a simplicity in his manners that obviously indicated the be- 
nevolence of his disposition. Of his musical merits it would be unne- 
cessary for me to speak, as his compositions were universally admired 
for their deep science as well as for their fancy, taste, and sensibility. 
His martial airs are characterized by bold expression and powerful 
effect. He was particularly esteemed by all his musical brethren, 
and a numerous train of private friends. 

I once had the pleasure of taking Mr. Shield to drink tea with the 
veteran poet and musician Charles Dibdin the elder. They had never 
met before, and it was not a little gratifying to me to witness the cor- 
diality with which these congenial spirits received each other. I also 
introduced Mr. Battishill, an eminent composer and performer, and 
Mr. Shield to each other for the first time. 

Mr. M. G. Lewis, better known by the name of Monk Lewis. I 
never had the pleasure of knowing this gentleman, though we both 
•mixed so much with the theatrical world ; I only knew his person. 
But his character was so much respected, and his literary and dra- 
matic talents rendered him at once so conspicuous, that he should not 
be passed without notice. His father held a situation in the war- 
t)fRce, and allowed his son 8001. a-year, while the latter was in parlia- 
ment. His parents had been separated some years, and as the mother's 
allowance was scanty, the son, with true filial aifection, gave a moiety 
of his income for her support. When the father heard of this act of 



MONK LEWIS— COLONEL FKEBERICK. 359 

filial afFection, he observed, that if his son could live upon 400Z. a-year, 
he should reduce his income to that sum. The son then, at the haz- 
ard of a similar reduction, again divided his income with his mother. 
Such conduct ought to be recorded. 

It is to be regretted that Mr. Lewis wrote his celebrated romance 
entitled " The Monk," though it must be acknowledged that the work 
displays great invention and descriptive power, and considerable 
poetic excellence. As this gentleman w^as much courted by the 
higher circles, and was a popular author, it is strange that he should 
have sunk into the grave with as little notice as if he w^ere a common 
individual. He had visited the West Indies to look after some pro- 
perty which devolved to him, and as he was returning to this country, 
died on the passage. His death was simply noticed in the public 
journals, merely by his name, though some tribute to his talents and 
his memory might naturally be expected. His " Castle Spectre" 
was very popular and attractive, and w^as of great advantage to 
Drury-lane theatre. The following is told respecting this piece, 
for which he had not received his profits as the author. In some 
argumentative dispute with, Mr. Sheridan, Mr. Lewis, meaning to 
reproach Mr. Sheridan for delaying the pecuniary recompense 
due to the author, offered to lay a sum equal to what the theatre 
had derived from " The Castle Spectre," that he was in the right. 
" No," said Mr. Sheridan, " I will not lay so large a sum as what 
the piece brought, but I will readily hazard what it is intrinsically 
worth." Soon after this satirical sally the author was duly re- 
warded. 

Colonel Frederick, whom 1 have mentioned before as the son 
of Theodore, King of Corsica by the voluntary choice of a whole 
people, was a particular friend of mine. He told me he was once 
in so much distress, that when he waited the result of a petition at 
the court of Vienna, he had actually been two days without food. 
On the third day a lady in attendance on the court, whom he had 
previously addressed on the subject of his petition, observing his lan- 
guid and exhausted state, offered him some refreshment ; he of course 
consenting, she ordered him a dish of chocolate, with some cakes, 
which rendered him more able to converse with her : in a short 
time they conceived a regard for each other, and were afterward 
married. 

He told me she stated that her reason for delaying to procure an 
answer to his petition was in order to prolong the intercourse between 
them. How long the lady lived I know not ; as I enjoyed his com- 
pany, but did not think proper to inquire more of his history than 
he was disposed to relate. He had a son whom I knew, a very ele- 
gant young man, who was an officer in the British army, and was 
killed in the American war. He had a daughter also, named Clarke, 
whom I knew after the colonel's death. She had, I believe, some 
offspring, but to whom she had been married, and what became of 
her family, I never knew. 

I remember that in the short interview which I had with her, in 



360 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

consequence of the death of her father, she showed me the great 
seal, and some regaha of the crown of Corsica, which her grand- 
father had retained in the wreck of his fortunes. The colonel told me 
that he was once in the condition of a reading secretary to the great 
Frederick, King of Prussia, but he was treated by that monarch with 
such proud austerity that he grew tired of the service, and particu- 
larly as Voltaire, and other profligate philosophers, were suffered tO' 
converse with the monarch at table, while Frederick was obliged to 
stand in the room all the time. At length, having applied to the 
Duke of Wirtemburg, to whom his father was related, he was offered 
protection at his court. When he informed the King of Prussia of 
this arrangement, the latter said, " Ay, you may go, it is jfit that one 
beggar should live with another." The colonel afterward joined his 
father during his adversity jn this country, and I believe supported 
himself as a teacher of languages, for which I understood him to be 
well qualified. He related to me the following curious incident. 

He said that while his father was in the Fleet prison for debty 
Sir John Stewart was a fellow-prisoner on the same account. The 
latter had a turkey presented to him by a friend, and he invited King 
Theodore and his son to partake of it. Lady Jane Douglas was of 
the party. She had her child, and a girl with her as a maid-servant, 
to carry the child ; she lived in an obscure lodging at Chelsea. In 
the evening, Colonel Frederick offered to attend her home, and she 
accepted his courtesy. The child was carried in turn by the mother^ 
the girl, and the colonel. On their journey he said there was a slight 
rain, and common civility would have induced him to call a coachj, 
but that he had no money in his pocket, and he was afraid that Lady 
Jane was in the same predicament. He was therefore obliged to 
submit to the suspicion of churlish meanness or poverty, and to con- 
tent himself with occasionally carrying the child to the end of the 
journey. 

The colonel used to consider that child as tiie rightful claimant of 
the property on which he was opposed by the guardians of the Duke 
of Hamilton ; but whether his conjecture corresponds with the date 
of the transactions which took place in relation to the Douglas cause,. 
is not within my knowledge. It is proper to observe, that Colonel 
Frederick stated his father to have been in the Fleet prison, but in a 
periodical paper entitled " The World," published in the year ia 
which a subscription was proposed for the relief of King Theodorej> 
he is represented as being then in the King's Bench prison. 

The letters of Mr. Andrev/ Stewart, one of the guardians of the 
Duke of Hamilton, addressed to Lord Mansfield on this subject, are 
w^ell known for diligent research, accurate reasoning, and a spirit of 
candour thoroughly consistent with zeal in the cause, and good 
breeding. These letters, as far as I understood, were thought to 
carry truth and conviction to the minds of all who were not interested 
in the pretensions of the claimant. Here I may properly introduce 
a manuscript note which v/as given to me by the late Reverend 
Richard Penneck. He had lent me Mr. Andrew Stewart's letters. 



COLONEL FREDERICK. 361 

and he gave me this note as corroborative of Mr. Stewart's facts and 
reasonings. This note, which I copy from Mr. Penneck's hand- 
writing, is as follows : — 

" The reader, it is presumed, cannot be surprised, perhaps he may 
be pleased, at being informed that Monsieur Menager, whom he will 
find so often mentioned in these letters as accoucheur, has been sent 
to the galleys for life, for being concerned in a fraudulent business 
similar to the affair in question. This is an unquestionable fact." 
Mr. Penneck adds, " This note w^as found by a worthy friend in the 
frontispiece of the work (in MS.) in his possession." 

The colonel related to me another curious anecdote, on which I 
rely, as I always found him consistent in his narrations. When 
Prince Poniatowski, who was afterward Stanislaus, the last King of 
Poland, was in this country, his chief, I might perhaps truly say, his 
only companion w'as Colonel Frederick. They were accustomed to 
walk together round the suburbs of the town, and to dine at a tavern 
or common eating-house. On one occasion the prince had some bills 
to discount in the city, and took Frederick with him to transact the 
business. The prince remained at Batson's Coffee-house, Cornhill,. 
while Frederick was employed on the bills. Some impediment oc- 
curred, which prevented the affair from being settled that day, and 
they proceeded on their usual walk before dinner, round Islington. 
After their walk they went to Dolly's, in Paternoster-row. Their 
dinner was beef-steaks, a pot of porter, and a bottle of port. The 
bill was presented to the prince, who, on looking over it, said it was 
reasonable, and handed it to Frederick, who concurred in the same 
opinion, and returned it to the prince, who desired him to pay. *' I 
have no money," said Frederick. " Nor have I," said the prince. 
*' What are we to do ?" he added. Frederick paused a few moments, 
then desiring the prince to remain until he returned, left the place, 
pledged his w^atch at the nearest pawnbroker's, and thus discharged 
the reckoning. My old friend Mr. Const, chairman of the Middle- 
sex sessions, who was well acquainted with Frederick, says, that 
the article pledged was not Frederick's watch, but the prince's cane, 
which he held in great value ; yet., as far as my recollection serves,, 
it was the watch. 

The prince, after he became monarch of Poland, occasionally kept 
up an intercourse with Frederick, and in one of his letters asked 
the latter if he remembered when they were " in pawn at a London 
tavern." 

The colonel had lodged in Northumberland-street, in the Strand, 
long before I knew him ; and according to the account which I heard 
from Mr. Const, was obliged to fly half naked from the house, which 
had taken fire, and was received into that of Mr. Stirling, the present 
respectable coroner for the county of Middlesex, who resided in the 
same street. Mr. Stirling offered the colonel an asylum in his own 
house gratuitously, and allotted to him the second floor, where he re- 
sided for many years. 
The colonel's conversation on the classics, on military transactions, 



362 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

and on the great German generals of that period, was highly instruct- 
ive and amusing. While very much respected, and at all times an 
acceptable guest to many friends, he was unfortunately induced by 
an acquaintance to accept two notes. The man, who was a trading 
justice at that time, died before the notes became due, and Frede- 
rick, seeing that he should be responsible without any pecuniary 
resource, and apprehensive of confinement in a jail, formed the des- 
perate design of suicide, borrowed a pistol of a friend, and shot 
himself one evening, in the church-yard of St. Margaret, Westmin- 
ster. He called on me on the Wednesday previous to this fatal 
act, which took place on the following Friday. I was at home, but 
ordered myself to be denied, as I was then practising as an oculist, 
and was at the time going to visit a patient, whose case did not admit 
of delay. I, however, heard him inquire for me with the same 
vivid spirit with which he generally spoke, and bitterly reproached 
myself for not having seen him when he called, as it struck me that 
something might have arisen in conversation to have prevented the 
dreadful event. 

The colonel, by his constant reading of classic authors, had im- 
bued his mind with a kind of Roman indifference of life. He arose 
generally very early in the morning, lighted the fire when the season 
required it, cleaned his boots, prepared himself for a walk, took his 
breakfast, then read the classical authors until it was time to take ex- 
ercise and visit his friends. This even tenor of life might have con- 
tinued for many years if he had not unfortunately put his hand to the 
bills in question ; but the prospect of a hopeless privation of liberty, 
and the attendant evils and horrors of a jail, operated so strongly 
upon his mind, habituated to ancient Roman notions, as to occasion 
the dreadful termination of his life by suicide. 



CHAPTER LI. 

John Wolcot, M.D. I became acquainted with this extraor- 
dinary character in the year 1785, and, with some intervals, arising 
from suspicion and mistake on his part, I believe I was more intimate 
with him than any other of his numerous connexions. What chiefly 
promoted our intimacy was my sincere admiration of his talents, and 
his persuasion that I understood his genius and general character 
better than most of his other friends. I believe I may venture to 
say that such was the fact. I confess, I think he possessed an original 
genius, which entitles him to a very high rank in the literary annals 
of the country. 

He was generally understood to be a good Latin scholar, and had 
made a considerable progress in the Greek language. His chief 
passion was for poetry, which he discovered very early in life, and 



DE. WOLCOT. 263 

never relinquished. His tendency was chiefly to satire, but |being a 
great admirer of the ladies, he very soon indulged himself in writing 
amatory verses. Yet, though many of them were marked by ten- 
derness and elegance, his humour interposed, and they generally con- 
cluded with some epigrammatic point. 

He was a great observer of Nature in every possible mode, and 
used to say, that, far from being exhausted, her works supplied an in- 
exhaustible source of new imagery to an attentive observer. He 
often talked of the difference between the made poet and the poet of 
Nature. The former, he said, might produce very good poems, but 
their excellence was derivative, and they had nothing original in their 
composition ; while the real poet studied Nature herself, and viewed 
life rather than books. This opinion may appear commonplace ; it 
is however certain that there are more original thoughts to be found 
in his works than in any other author of modern times ; nor, perhaps, 
in that respect, would it be extravagant to compare him with some of 
the best of our former writers. What Melmoth, in his " Fitzosborn's 
Letters," says of " The Spleen," written by Matthew Green, may 
fairly be said of Wolcot's " Lousiad," viz. that there are more original 
ideas in that poem than are to be found in any other work of the same 
extent. 

I have been often laughed at for my high opinion of Dr. Wolcot's 
genius, but console myself with the notion, that they who ridicule me 
had either not read his works, or wanted judgment and humour suffi- 
cient to understand them. That he frequently fell into low imagery 
I readily admit, but it will always be found that it was still original, 
and not without a strong point. 

There is a well-vi^ritten account of the doctor in the " Annual 
Biography and Obituary for the year 1820," but the author is mistaken 
in some instances, particularly as to the success of his first publica- 
tion, his " Lyric Odes on the Painters," which, far from being profit- 
able, were so little noticed, except by the artists, that the publication 
cost him forty pounds. Soon after these odes were published, I was 
introduced to him accidentally by Mr. Penneck. I had read the 
" Lyric Odes," and when in the course of conversation I found that 
the doctor was the author of them, I was anxious to cultivate an ac- 
quaintance with so humorous and so original a writer. I then con- 
ducted a public journal, and by frequent extracts from his works, and 
the insertion of many of his unpublished poems, I brought the name 
of Peter Pindar into so much notice that Mr. Kearsley, then a popular 
bookseller, introduced himself to him, and was a ready and liberal 
purchaser of all his productions. 

The doctor has often declared that he was indebted to my zeal to 
bring him into notice for half of his fame and fortune. I must, how- 
ever, do myself the justice to declare that I endeavoured to give no- 
toriety to his name before he wrote such reprehensible attacks upon 
our late venerable sovereign ; but as people are too apt to feel plea- 
sure in attacks on their superiors, and as the doctor at that time did 
not abound in money, my exhortations and entreaties had no effect in 



364 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

opposition to his interest. He, however, hardly ever wrote any thing 
that he did not submit to me in manuscript ; and I may confidently 
say, that I induced him to make many alterations and suppressions^ 
which not only rendered his works less exceptionable, but most pro- 
bably saved him from legal consequences. 

I have often been surprised, as he was really a timid man, how he 
could venture to take such freedoms, not only with the royal character, 
but with many of the upper ranks. With respect to our late excel- 
lent monarch George the Third, he used to say, that he reverenced 
the British constitution, and held its political head in due veneration ; 
but that he felt justified in sporting with the peculiarities of the pri- 
vate character of the monarch. It was in vain that I opposed these 
opinions, and referred him to Blackstone, to show the punishment 
annexed to works that were calculated to bring the character of the 
monarch into contempt. In short, he found the topic too profitable to 
be abandoned, and therefore pursued it to such an extent as to render 
it wonderful that it should not have attracted the attention of the law 
officers of government. If legal notice had been taken of his muse, 
she would certainly have been silenced, at least upon that subject ; 
and I can afiirm that upon one occasion, as I have already stated, 
when he was in fear that he should draw upon himself the vengeance 
of government, he had actually prepared to set oft' for America, and 
determined never to revisit this country. The apprehension, how- 
ever, subsided, and impunity made him bolder. 

His lines addressed to the infamous Thomas Paine during the 
French revolution, afford a proof of his attachment to the constitu- 
tion of the country ; and, to use his own expression, due care 
should always be taken by wise statesmen to prevent " the unen- 
lightened million" from having any share in political power. 

Here it may be proper to give some account of what was called 
Peter's pension, of which no true statement has ever appeared, though 
many have been published. We were one day dining with a gentle- 
man, intimately connected with a member of the government at that 
time, and in the course of conversation the doctor expressed himself 
with so much vehemence against the French revolution, which was 
raging at that time, and the principles on which it was founded, that 
I jocularly said to our host, " The doctor seems to show symptoms of 
bribabiliiy." The gentleman encouraged the joke, and addressing the 
doctor, " Come, doctor,"' said he, " with these opinions you can have 
no objection to support the government — shall I open a negotia- 
tion ?" The doctor gave a doubtful, but not a discouraging answer^ 
and then the subject dropped, but the next morning the doctor called 
on the gentleman, and knowing that he was in the confidence of 
government, asked him if he was serious in what he had said the day 
before. The gentleman, not being without alarm at the progress of 
French principles, and their ensnaring nature ; aware too of the 
power of ridicule, and how formidable a weapon it was in the hands 
of the doctor ; told him seriously that if he was really inclined to 
afford the support of his pen to government, he thought he could pro- 



an. WOLCOT. 



365 



cure for him its patronage. The doctor said he had several v/orks in 
preparation against ministers individually, which he would suppress 
if that would do, but was not disposed to be actively employed in 
favour of government. The gentleman, with some compliment to 
his satirical talents, told him that he could not negotiate on such terms, 
for, if he published libels, the law might be put in force against him ; 
remarking at the same time, that by supporting government he would 
be acting upon his own declared principles, which were so hostile to 
those by which the French monarchy had been overthrown. After 
farther discussion, the doctor permitted him to open the negotiation. 
Though government had not given the least intimation on the sub- 
ject, yet when so powerful a pen was offered, it was too well ac- 
quainted with the doctor's powers to negative the proposal. At length 
it was settled that the doctor should have three hundred a-year 
for active services. Wolcot stickled hard for five hundred a-year, 
but, finding that he could not succeed, he consented to the measure. 
He, however, wrote nothing but a few epigrams against the Jacobins,, 
which he sent to the editor of " The Sun" newspaper. This, how- 
ever, not being deemed an adequate service, I frequently advised him 
to be more active ; but a sort of shame hung about him for having 
engaged in support of a government which he had so often abused, or 
rather its members, and I never could rouse him into action. 

I should mention, that a difficulty had arisen as to the medium 
through which he was to receive the recompense. The gentleman 
who had opened the negotiation positively declined the office, and, as 
the doctor was prohibited from going himself to the quarter where it 
was to be received, matters seemed to be at a stand ; however, as E 
was really an " alarmist," to use Mr. Sheridan's word, and thought 
highly of the advantage which might be derived from the doctor's 
talents, I offered to be the channel of remuneration. Wolcot, though 
he really did nothing more than what I have above mentioned, was 
constantly urging me " to bring the bag," as he styled it. Reluctant, 
however, to ask for money which he had done nothing to deserve, I 
delayed my application so long that he grew impatient, and asked me 
if he might go himself to the quarter in question. I answered that I 
thought it was the best way, for I had reason to believe he considered 
he was really to have five hundred a-year, and that the gentleman who 
had negotiated the business and myself were to divide the other two. 
The doctor then angrily applied to the fountain-head, and on inquiring 
what sum he was to have, was told that it w^as to be three hundred 
a-year, and that I had spoken of his talents in the highest terms, and 
of the advantages which might be expected from them. He then 
declared that he should decline the business aitogther, and returned 
the ten pounds which he had taken of our host, as he said, to " bind 
the bargain." Disgusted with his suspicion, I reproached him on 
the occasion, and w^e separated in anger. 

As I knevv^ the doctor was too apt to give a favourable colouring to 
his own cause, and that he had represented the whole transaction as 
a trap to ensnare him, though the overture had actually come from 



366 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

liimself, I addressed a letter to him, and faithfully and fully detailed 
ihe whole affair, telling him that I kept a copy of my letter to read 
wherever I heard that he had misrepresented the matter. Many 
years of separation passed, but hearing he was blind, infirm, lame, 
and asthmatic, I resolved one Monday morning to begin the week 
with an extinction of all enmity between us, and went to his lodgings 
in Somers' Town on that day. I addressed him in the most friendly 
tone, but he did not recollect my voice, and when he understood who 
I was, he appeared delighted, pressed me to have a glass of brandy- 
and-water, though it was morning, and said that if 1 would stay, I 
should have a beef-steak or any thing else I could desire. In short, 
we were reconciled in a moment, and I repeated my visits as often as 
convenient to me, promising that I would positively drink tea with 
him on every Saturday. I found his faculties as good as ever, and 
Jiis poetical talents in full vigour. 

I often wrote several of his compositions from his dictation, which 
were not published, but fell into the hands of his worthless executor. 
I derived so much pleasure and instruction from his conversation, that 
I was constant in my attendance upon him on the stipulated day. 
Having, however, unavoidably omitted one Saturday, he sent one of 
his female servants to desire me to come, and to tell me that he had 
something for me. I went, when he desired me to take up the pen, 
and dictated the following lines, which he said he should have sent to 
me if he had been able to write, and they were the very last he ever 
suggested. 

INVITATION. 

Taylor, why keep so long away 
From one who hates a gloomy day ? 

Then let not laziness o'ercome ye, 
Hasten with stories, wit, and rhyme, 
To give a fillip to dull time, 

And drive the d — n'd blue devils from me. 

Ah ! Taylor, " non sum qualis eram^^ 
For the tomb I fear I near am, 

But who can hope to live for ever ? ' 

One foot is in the grave, no doubt, 
Then come and try to help it out, 

An ode shall praise thy kind endeavour. 

The ode, however, he did not live to write, which I sincerely re- 
gret, as I have reason to believe that it would have manifested at 
once, his favourable opinion of me, his genius, his humour, and his 
friendship. 

A few days before his death he sent two landscapes to me, painted 
by the old masters, for one of which I had many years before offered 
to give him five guineas, which he refused, saying in his strong man- 
ner, " No — I won't sell pleasure." Both of these pictures were so 
much injured by negligence and bad treatment, that they were not 
worth accepting otherwise than as memorials of friendship. From 



BR. WOLCOT. 367 

one of them, that which I had offered to purchase, my excellent 
friend Mr. Westall, R.A. kindly cut off the injured parts, and reduced 
it into a pleasing moonlight scene, which I now possess. 

As far as I can presume to judge, Doctor Wolcot had a profound 
knowledge of painting, and a refined taste for that art. His objec- 
tions were generally urged with original humour and ludicrous com- 
parisons, which had all the force and accuracy of the most elaborate 
criticism. He said that his great aim was to make Opie a Michael 
Angelo Buonarotti, but that he must first have made him a gentle- 
man, which he found impossible. This remark, however, w^as made 
during his variance with that original artist, of whose talents he thought 
highly and deservedly. 

The raillery which frequently took place between him and Opie 
was highly diverting. Wolcot's sallies were marked with vigour, 
with a classical point, and Opie's with all the energy of a mind 
naturally very powerful ; their controversies always ended with 
laughter on both sides, and without the least ill will. The contest 
was what Johnson applies to the characters in Congreve's plays, an 
" intellectual gladiatorship," in which neither might be deemed the 
victor. The doctor and I used frequently to fall into contests of the 
same kind, but I found him generally too strong, and my only expedi- 
ent was to make him laugh, by retorting some of his old sallies against 
me, which the company thought were my own, and he used to smile 
at my impudence in repeating them against him. Sometimes those 
in company who did not know us, were apprehensive that we should 
part in emnity, but we always went home arm-in-arm, as if nothing 
had happened. 

My weekly visits continued many years, with unabated pleasure on 
ray part, and I may presume much to the gratification of the doctor. 

As a proof that" he was a kind and considerate master, when one 
of his servants came to tell me that he had been taken ill, and was de- 
lirious when she left him, she wept all the time that she described his 
situation. I went as soon as I could in the afternoon, and then 
learned that he had recovered his faculties, but was asleep. I sat by 
his bedside, expecting he would awake, amusing myself with a volume 
of his works until ten o'clock. He then awoke, and I told him how 
long I had been there, observing that it was a dreary way home, and 
perhaps not quite safe, concluding with saying, " Is there any thing on 
earth that 1 can do for you V His answer, delivered in a deiep and 
strong tone, was, " Bring back my youth." He fell into a sleep again, 
and 1 left him. On calling on him the next day, I found he had died, 
as might be said, in his sleep, and that those words were the last he 
ever uttered. 

Such was the end of a man who possessed extraordinary powers, 
great acquisitions, and an original genius. I cannot but consider him 
indeed as a man among those of t'lie most distinguished talents that 
this country has produced, and whose works ought, and must be con- 



368 RECORDS OF MY LIFB. 

sidered as compositions marked by extraordinary powers, inexhausti- 
ble humour, satire, and imagination.* 

There are reasonable doubts about the authenticity of his will. 
The person who possessed it was a very vulgar man, but very cun- 
ning, and well acquainted with the world. The doctor was disgusted 
with him, and only endured him because he hated solitude after he 
was blind. Wolcot, who thought him an honest man, told me that 
he had his will. I told him what the doctor had said, and he denied 
that he was entrusted with a will. After Wolcot's death, however, 
he said that he had found the will among some copper-plates, from 
drawings by the doctor, from which prints had been pubhshed. A 
very respectable person, who is a clerk in one of the ofnces in Somer- 
set House, who was entrusted by Vv^olcot, and who used to receive 
dividends for him at the bank, assured me that it was impossible a 
will could be found in the alleged situation, as he had looked over 
the copper-plates a short time before ; that no paper was among 
them ; and that it was likewise impossible for the doctor, blind as he 
was, to have placed any paper there at a subsequent period, or to 
have found his way to the place where the copper-plates were de- 
posited. 

What strengthens the suspicion that the will was not genuine, is, 
that it was witnessed by two persons, whose names were wholly 
unknown to the servants, and whom they never remembered as 
visiters to their master. The servants were sisters, and the elder was 
a shrewd, intelligent, and attentive young woman. Their master had 
often mentioned the sums that he should respectively leave to them^ 
and which the executor ultimately paid. He also paid the clerk 
whom I have mentioned fifty pounds, and me the same sum, which 
the doctor had desired him to specify in writing, and which he signed 
as well as he could in his helpless situation. Wolcot's then surviving, 
sister, knowing my intimacy with him, wrote to me inquiring the 
particulars respecting his death, and expressing her surprise that he 
had not left her any thing, as he had signified to her in a letter which 
he had dictated and sent to her, that he hoped he should be able to 
leave her a few hundreds. I made a profile drawing of him, v/hich 
his friend the elder Mr. Heath engraved, and which, with a biography 

* Doctor Wolcot may be said to have been profoundly conversant with the nature 
of man. He had mixed with various classes ef mankind, and his knowledge of 
them rendered him very discerning, and of consequence very suspicious. The fol- 
lowing anecdote appears to me to be a striking proof of his penetration, though to 
others, when the solution is known, it may be deemed a natural inference. He dined 
one day with a niece of Dr. Warburton, who, in speaking highly in praise of her 
uncle, expressed her surprise that ever he should be thought a proud man, " for, said 
she, " I have been with him Vv'hen there were lords, bishops, and rich men in com- 
pany, and he took more notice of me, and talked more with me, than with any of the 
rest." The poor woman, as Dr. Wolcot justly observed, could hardly have given a 
better specimen of the pride of her uncle, who, to show his contempt for great ^Jeo- 
ple, devoted his attention to a silly old gossip. People in general might consider the 
old woman's story as literally a proof of the humility of Warburton, and I probably 
among them, but the discernment of Wolcot led him to the proper interpretation of 
his conduct. This development may remind us of Columbus and the egg. 



DR. WOLCOT. 

that I wrote of him, was inserted in the Lady's Magazine, of which 
Mr. Heath was then the proprietor. I sent the Sfagazine to the 
doctor's sister, who wrote a letter to me, thanking me for my atten- 
tion, and requesting my acceptance of the second folio of Shakspeare's 
works, published by Hemings and Condell, which I received from 
the executor on producing her letter. The doctor left many boxes 
full of unpublished manuscripts of his own writing, for which the 
bookseller, it is said, offered a thousand pounds,^ but for which the 
executor demanded double the sum ; and as he also is dead, they 
will probably be disposed of as waste-paper, though perhaps, if 
properly selected, thej^ might prove a valuable addition to the poetical 
treasures of the country. The doctor's love of life was intense. He 
has often said that he v/ould take a lease of five hundred years from 
nature. " W hat !" said I, " with all your infirmities V " Yes," said 
he ; '* for while here j-ou are something, but when dead you are 
nothing ;" yet he firmly believed in the existence of a Supreme Being. 
I remember once mentioning the doctors love of life to Mr. Sheridan, 
expressing my surprise. Mr. Sheridan said, that he would not only 
take a lease for five hundred years, but for ever, provided he was in 
health, in good circumstances, and with such friends as he then 
possessed ; yet if he had taken due care of his health, and prudently 
managed his fortune, he might still be alive and an ornament to the 
country. 

Dr. Wolcot had been in various parts of the world, and had mixed 
with all the different classes of mankind, the result of Vv^hich intercourse 
was, a ver}^ unfavourable opinion of human nature. He had a dire 
hatred of all foreign courts, and of politicians in all countries. He 
thought that foreign potentates in all states were capable of the 
utmost tyranny and oppression, and that they would employ the 
worst means to effect their purposes. Though he held the nobility 
in great contempt, as proud, insolent, ignorant, and unfeeling, yet he 
confessed that he always felt awe in their presence. 

I have been a frequent witness of the awe which he felt before 
great persons. Once I remember being in a private room of the old 
opera-house, where his majesty George the Fourth, then Prince of 
Wales, condescended to permit Dr. Wolcot to be introduced to him. 
The prince received him in the most gracious manner, and in a short 
conversation observed, with dignified affability, that he admired his 
genius, but sometimes thought it ill-directed. The doctor seemed to 
sink with humility and self-reproach, and made a mumbling, inaudible 
apology. The prince maintained the same dignified ease and affa- 
bihty, and Wolcot recovered his spii-its enough to express his hopes 
that his royal highness would have less reason hereafter to find fault 
with his humble muse. Nothing could be more graceful than the 
manner in which his royal highness took leave of the doctor, who, from 
that time, never resumed an attack upon the royal family, but trans- 
ferred all his satirical hostility to the ministers. It was understood 
that the prince was aware of this meeting, and it was inferred that he 
thought a courteous rebuke would have a better effect upon the 



370 RECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

doctor in checking the license of his pen, than all the severity of the 
law if it should be called into action against him ; and the expedient 
succeeded. 

Another time I was going up the stairs at the same opera-house 
with the doctor, when we met the late Duke of Cumberland, who 
with perfect good-humour, said, " How do you do, Pindaricus ?" 
Wolcot felt abashed, but not to the same degree as when before the 
prince. 

I learned from the late Duke of Leeds, with whom I had the 
honour to be acquainted, that meeting Dr. Wolcot in the green-room 
of Covent Garden theatre, who had attacked him in one of his poems, 
the duke addressed him with great courtesy, and desired him to ac- 
company him to his box, and he would introduce him to the duchess, 
Wolcot could not resist the overture, but went with timid hesitation, 
and was introduced to the duchess. The duke told me, that in the 
course of conversation he adverted to the doctor's attack Upon him, 
and said, " But, doctor, if you disapproved of my politics, why did 
you ridicule my nose — I could not help that ?" Wolcot attempted to 
excuse himself, saying he had heard that his grace had, with other 
ministers, advised a prosecution against him for the freedom of his 
pen. The duke assured him he was misinformed, and that he re- 
vered the freedom of the press. The doctor was received by the 
duke and duchess with great courtesy, and they parted in the most 
amicable manner. 

I was first introduced to his grace, when Marquis of Carmarthen, 
by Dr. Monsey, at his apartments in Chelsea Hospital, and he always 
saluted me with great kindness from that period till his death. The 
duke told me that as he was once going down the stairs at St. James's 
Palace, he saw the celebrated Earl of Bath descending at the same 
time, and apparently with great pain. The duke, then Lord Osborn, 
offered his assistance, which the earl accepted ; and as they went 
down the stairs, the latter said, " Thank you, young gentleman, I have 
more difficulty in getting down these stairs now, than ever I had in 
getting up them," alluding, of course, to his former political import- 
ance. 

The Duke of Leeds possessed poetical talents, as was evident in a 
prologue which he once wrote, and in his Ex pede Herculem, which 
obviously showed that if he had continued to court the muse he 
would not have wooed in vain. He was one of the best-bred gentle- 
men I ever knew. I remember when speaking of his grace with the 
late Mr. Kemble, the latter said the duke always reminded him of the 
higher characters in Congreve, observing that he had their ease, 
courtesy, elegance, and sprightliness in his conversation, without any 
of their licentiousness and occasional grossness. 

I have often met his grace in the green-room of Covent Garden 
theatre, and sometimes he appeared a little under the influence of 
Bacchus, in consequence, it was said, of the want of domestic felicity ; 
but he never deviated in the slightest degree from his habitual polite- 
ness, affability, and good-humour. Never was there a greater con- 



DR. WOLCOT — MR. WILLIAM WOODFALL. 371 

trast than between the deportment of his grace and that of the late 
Marquis of Abercorn, whom I sometimes saw in the same place. 
The marquis assumed a haughty dignity of demeanour, and looked 
around as if he thought he disgraced himself by condescending to 
cast a glance upon any person in the room. The performers, who are 
never wanting in humour, ridicule, and mimicry, on his departure amply 
revenged themselves for his indignant neglect by amusing caricatures 
of his manner. Not so with the Duke of Leeds, who was always 
treated by them with the most respectful attention, and seemed to 
raise them in their opinion of themselves by his courteous kindness 
and unaffected affability. 

1 once presented to his grace my first metrical production, for I 
fear to call it poetry, but did not annex my residence to the few 
original stanzas in manuscript by which it was accompanied ; and the 
next time I had the pleasure of meeting him, he gently rebuked me, 
and said that if he had knovt^n where I lived, he would not have con- 
tented himself with writing to me, but would have waited upon me 
to thank me in person. 1 lamented my omission, as I should have 
witnessed a perfect example of good-breeding, and should have pro- 
fited by the intelhgence and abundance of anecdotes that character- 
ized his conversation. His grace frequently invited Mr. Kemble, and 
other higher actors, to meet several distinguished literary characters 
at his hospitable mansion. 



CHAPTER LH. 

Mr. William Woodfall. This gentleman, who was one of my 
early friends, was not more distinguished by his extraordinary mem- 
ory than by the rectitude and benevolence of his private character. 
His memory was, indeed, wonderfully accurate and retentive. The 
public journal which he instituted, and for many years conducted, was 
rendered so popular by his faithful report of parliamentary debates, 
that the proprietors of other public journals were obliged to resort to 
similar means, in order to keep up the comparative credit of their re- 
spective papers ; but they were obliged also to employ many reporters, 
in order to sustain any rivalry with Mr. Woodfall in that department 
of a newspaper. His practice in the House of Commons during a 
debate was to close his eyes, and to lean with both hands on his stick. 
He was so well acquainted with the tone and manner of the several 
speakers, that he only deviated from his customary posture when a 
new member addressed the house, and having heard his name, he had 
no subsequent occasion for farther inquiry. 

Upon one occasion, some observations were made upon one of Mr. 
Woodfall's reports in the Court of King's Bench, when Lord Kenyon 
was chief-justice. In consequence of what the counsel had said on the 



372 RECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

report in question, in which a fact of some importance was involved. 
Lord Kenyon desired to see the newspaper, which was handed to 
him. After perusing the passage referred to, his lordship inquired if 
the journalist was the gentleman who was so distinguished for accu- 
racy in reporting debates, and being answered in the affirmative, he 
said, that he had been so frequent a witness of that gentleman's sur- 
prising correctness in reporting debates in the House of Lords, that he 
was disposed to give implicit credit to his precision in the present in- 
stance, and therefore no more was said on the subject. 

But what increased the wonder as to the powers of his memory, 
was his ability to retain a full recollection of any particular debate a 
fortnight after it had occurred, and during the intervention of many 
other debates. On such occasions he used to say, that he had placed 
it in a corner of his mind for future reference. When employed in 
writing his reports, he was not so absorbed in the subject as to be in- 
capable of playful aberrations, of which I may properly mention an 
instance, related to me by Mr. John Windus, of the Court of Ex- 
chequer. 

Mr. Woodfall, on account of his judgment and candour as a drama- 
tic and theatrical critic, and for his zeal in supporting the interests of 
the drama, was permitted by the theatrical proprietors to write orders 
for the admission of his friends. Mr. Windus, then a boy, during his 
school vacation, called on him for the purpose of asking for an order. 
Mrs. Woodfall told him, that as her husband was then occupied on a 
very important debate, he could not see him. Mr. Woodlall, how- 
ever, hearing his voice, called him into his private room and inquired 
what he wanted. Being told, he said, " Oh, you want an order," 
and proceeded on his debate. Having reached some period that ad- 
mitted of a pause, he again asked young Windus what he wanted, and 
the request being repeated, he uttered the same v^^ords and resumed 
writing the debate. After many repetitions of the same question and 
answer, Mr. Woodfall took a piece of paper and wrote something to 
the following effect, addressed to the boy's schoolmaster : " Sir, the 
bearer is a very bad boy, and I desire you will give him a severe 
whipping, and place it to the account of yours, Toby Ticklerump." 
After young Windus had recovered from his surprise, Mr. Woodfall, 
with his usual kindness, gave the proper order, and returned to his 
occupation. 

This circumstance, however unimportant in itself, is mentioned to 
show that, in the midst of a labour that might be expected to engross 
all his mental powers, he was able to indulge a facetious humour. Mr. 
Windus kept the whimsical order till his riper years, as a singular 
proof of the intellectual power and playful humour of his early friend. 

I was well acquainted with Mr. Woodfall, and can bear a cordial 
testimony to his moral worth, and the candour and justice of his thea- 
trical criticisms. He always seemed to touch the true points of merit 
and defects in a drama, or in the performance ; but while he proved 
iiis judgment, he was always warm in his panegyrics and lenient in 
liis censure. When attending any new drama, or new performer, his 



MK. WILLIAM WOODFALL. 373 

attention seemed by the expression of his features to approach to 
severity, though there was nothing Uke it in his heart. 

I remember the late Mr. John Kemble, when we were once sitting 
together at the theatre, bade me observe Mr. Woodfall in one of those 
serious moods, and said, " How applicable to him is the passage in 
Hamlet, " thoughts black, hands apt." After conducting " the Morning 
Chronicle" with a due attention to the course of pubhc events and 
characters, and without any of that daring scandal, scurrility, and fri- 
volous levity too characteristic of the public prints, as the proprietors 
of that paper were not capable of properly estimating the value of his 
talents, and wanted to impose restraints upon his power as editor, he 
relinquished his connexion with it, and instituted a new daily paper 
under the title of " The Diary," which he supported by his name and 
abilities for many years ; but as parliamentary debates became the 
chief objects of public attention, as the rival journals were directed to 
the same objects, and as he had to contend against a host of reporters, 
who were able to render the debates as long, and, perhaps, longer 
than it was possible for his individual efforts to extend them, the suc- 
cess of his new paper did not fulfil his expectations, which induced 
him to put an end to it. 

To show the grateful feelings that animated his heart on the very 
day in which he terminated the existence of " The Diary," he sent a 
letter to me, expressing his thanks for the voluntary and gratuitous 
articles with which I had supplied him for many years, and which on 
my part were gratifying contributions of friendship to a worthy man, 
who was always prompt and zealous in the exertion of his talents 
wherever they could be useful. 

Mrs. Woodfall was an excellent wife and mother. There were 
live sons, and one daughter, all of whom were educated with paren- 
tal care, and all of whom rewarded that care by their good conduct 
and their talents. The eldest son, who was sent to the university, and 
who displayed great abilities, was able to render valuable service to 
his father's journal, and promised to become eminent at the bar or 
in the pulpit ; but was unfortunately, in the midst of the hopes which 
his intellectual powers and attainments had excited, seized with a 
mental malady which totally unfitted him for business, and at length 
finally obliged the family to place him in a situation appropriated to 
such melanchoh/ cases. 

Mr. Woodfall was a very hospitable character. He possessed a 
very handsome residence at Kentish Town, which was often the scene 
of friendship and conviviality. I remember passing a very pleasant 
day at this mansion. Among the numerous guests on that occasion 
were the late Mr. Tickel, whose literary and colloquial powers were 
well known ; the late Mr. Richardson, whose literary talents were 
justly admired for his part in that memorable publication " The Rolliad 
and the Probationary Odes," which once excited public attention in 
no slight degree ; the late Mr. John Kemble ; the late Mr. Perry of 
-' The Morning Chronicle ;" Dr. Glover, whose facetious and convivial 
powers were in high repute ; and Francis Const, Esq. The day was 

R 



374 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

a little interrupted by a short dispute between Mr. Kemble and Mr. 
Perry, the latter having given an offensive answer to something said 
by Mr. Kemble. Mr. Kemble looked at him with contempt, and 
wishing to put an end to the contest, said emphatically, with Zanga, 
" A lion preys not upon carcasses." This rejoinder roused Mr. 
Perry, and serious hostilities might have ensued, if Mr. Const and Mr. 
Richardson had not instantly interposed, and by their friendly and 
impressive mediation restored peace and good-humour. 

The late Mr. Francis Twiss, father of the present Mr. Horace Twiss, 
by the sister of Mr. Kemble, was also one of the party, and as soon as 
Mr. Perry arose with an evident hostile spirit, he arose also to support 
his friend Kemble, and to effect a reconciliation, but his feelings over- 
powered him, and the work of amity was effectually accomplished by 
Messrs. Const and Richardson. Care, however, was judiciously taken 
by Mr. Woodfall to prevent the disputants from returning to town in 
the same vehicle, lest the contest should be renewed. I returned in 
the same coach with Mr. Const, Mr. Kemble, and Mr. Twiss, and 
there was no allusion to the unpleasant controversy in our journey. 

Mr. Woodfall had a high idea of the importance of a parliamentary 
reporter, and when I one day congratulated him on having his elder 
son in town to assist him, during a very heavy week — " Yes," said he, 
" and Charles Fox to have a debate on a Saturday ! — what ! does he 
think that reporters are made of iron V There is a ludicrous simpli- 
city in his thus supposing that a great politician, with an object of 
consequence to his party in view, should have thought of parliament- 
ary reporters. 

Mr. Woodfall told me that after Dr. Dodd had been tried and con- 
victed, but not ordered for execution, he sent to request Mr. Wood- 
fall would visit him in Newgate. Mr. Woodfall, who was always 
ready at the call of distress, naturally supposed the doctor wished to 
consult him on his situation, or to desire that he would insert some 
article in his favour in " The Morning Chronicle." On entering the 
place of confinement, Mr. Woodfall began to condole with him on his 
unfortunate situation. The doctor immediately interrupted him, and 
said that he wished to see him on quite a different subject. He then 
told Mr. Woodfall, that, knowing his judgment on dramatic matters,^ 
he was anxious to have his opinion of a comedy which he had writ- 
ten, and if he approved of it, to request his interest with the managers 
to bring it on the stage. Mr. Woodfall was not only surprised, but 
shocked, to find the doctor so insensible to his situation, and the more 
so, because whenever he attempted to offer consolation, the doctor as 
often said, " Oh ! they will not hang me !" while, to aggravate Mr. 
Woodfall's feelings, he had been informed by Mr. Ackerman, the 
keeper of Newgate, before his interview with the doctor, that the 
order for his execution had actually reached the prison. For this ex- 
traordinary fact, the reader may confidently rely on the veracity of 
Mr. Woodfall.* 

* I once heard the unfortunate doctor preach at the Magdalen Hospital. Presum- 
ing upon his importance, he did not arrive till the ggrvice was orer, and a clergyman 



MR. GEORGE AND H. S. WOODFALft. 375 

Mr. George Woobfall. The name of Woodfall will always 
rank high in my esteem and gratitude, particularly that branch of the 
family which 1 now introduce. He was the son of my old friend 
Mr. Henry Sampson Woodfall, formerly chief proprietor of " The 
Public Advertiser," at that time the principal public journal ; and, as 
a proof of its decided superiority, the vehicle which Junius had pre- 
ferred to communicate his productions to the world at large. It 
could not have been merely the high estimation in which "The Public 
Advertiser" was held at the period in question, which induced him to 
make this honourable selection, but because he must have known 
something of the firmness, public spirit, and inflexible integrity of 
Mr. Henry Sampson Woodfall. However that may be, it is certain 
that though Junius might have known him, he did not know Junius, 
and hence the preference which Junius gave him is the more honour- 
able to my old friend. But to the credit of Mr. H. S. Woodfall, 
though it was generally supposed that Junius had intrusted him with 
his name as well as with his productions, Mr. Woodfall never affected 
to know the author, directly or indirectly ; and I remember when I 
once met him at dinner at the house of Mr. Harris, the late chief 
proprietor of Covent Garden theatre, and Junius became the subject 
of conversation, I observed that Junius must be dead, for that so- 
many topics of constitutional importance had occurred since he last 
wrote, that he would have been induced to come forward again if he 

had entered the pulpit and commenced the sermon. The clergyman, however, re- 
signed his situation as soon as the doctor appeared. His discourse was delivered 
with energy, but with something theatrical in his action and poetical in his language. 
Among other passages of a lofty description, I remember he said, that " the man 
whose life is conducted according to the principles of the Christian religion, will have 
the satisfaction of an approving conscience and the glory of an admiring God." 
Dodd published a volume of poems, some of which are in Dodsley's collection. His 
sermons have a tincture of poetry in the language. I heard him a second time ire 
Charlotte Chapel, Pimlico, and his discourse made the same impression. 

It was lamentable to remark the ditFerence between his former deportment in the 
streets and his appearance in the coach the last time I saw him, when he was going 
to suffer the sentence of the law. In the streets he walked with his head erect and 
with a lofty gait, like a man conscious of his own importance, and perhaps of the dig- 
nity of his sacred calling. In the coach he had sunk down with his head to the side, 
his face pale, while his features seemed to be expanded : his eyes were closed, and 
he appeared a wretched spectacle of despair. The crowd of people in Holborn, 
where I saw him pass, was immense, and a deep sense of pity seemed to be the uni- 
versal feeling. I was young and adventurous, or I should not have trusted myself 
in so vast a multitude ; sympathy had repressed every tendency towards disorder, 
even in so varied and numerous a mass of people. 

Dr. Dodd, on the day when he was taken into custody, had engaged to dine with 
the late Chevalier Ruspini, in Pall Mall. He had arrived some time before the hour ■ 
appointed, and soon after two persons called and inquired for him, and when he went 
to them, he was informed that they had come to secure him on a criminal charge. 
The doctor apologized to the chevalier for the necessity of leaving him so abruptly,, 
and desired that he would not wait dinner for him. Soon after dinner a friend of 
the chevalier called, and said he had just left the city, and informed the company 
that Dr. Dodd had been committed to prison on a charge of forgery. I was present 
at the sale of his effects at his house in Argyle-street. During the sale a large table 
in the drawing-room was covered with private letters to the doctor, all open, and 
some signed by many noblemen and distinguished characters. I presume these let^- 
ters were to be sold in one lot, bat I did not stay till the conclusion of the sale. 

R2 : 



376 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

were alive. Mr. Woodfall then said, " I hope and trust he is not 
dead, as I think he would have left me a legacy ; for though I de- 
rived much honour from his preference, I suffered much by the free- 
dom of his pen." These were his very words, and the blunt integrity 
of his manner fully confirmed his previous declaration, in the same 
company, that he was really ignorant of the author. 

I had been an anonymous correspondent with Mr. H. S. Woodfall 
some years, merely in gratification of my political principles and 
feelings, without his knowing from whom he derived my communi- 
cations ; but a youthful messenger whom I once sent with a letter, 
met him at his own door, and being asked from whom he came, 
mentioned my name. I then thought it necessary to let him know 
who was his correspondent, and from that period avowed to him all 
my humble contributions to his journal. 

At a later period I became acquainted with his son, Mr. George 
Woodfall, the subject of my present notice, who at the period alluded 
to must have been nearly a boy. However, it has been my good for- 
tune to become intimate with him at his own and other hospitable 
tables, particularly at that of Mr. Alderman Crowder. 

Mr. Henry Sampson Woodfall presented to me the first collection 
€>f the Works of Junius, corrected by the author, with a kind of 
inscription from himself ; and when his son George brought forth his 
large edition, in three volumes, including all the private letters of 
Junius, he paid me the same gratifying compliment. Previous, how- 
ever, to this compliment, he paid me one much higher, in requesting 
that I would look over the files of " The Public Advertiser," before the 
year 17G9, in order to see if there were any works of Junius previous 
to his signature under that name. I did so, and found a letter signed 
" Publicola," which, in the style and the whole scheme of the com- 
position of Junius, was obviously written by the same hand, though 
not with the neat and polished language which afterward charac- 
terized those letters that excited the attention and admiration of the 
public, and which will always rank among the chief productions of 
British literature. There was also a short letter signed Junius, but 
which Mr. H. S. Woodfall did not include in the first collection. 

W^hen, by the treachery of a partner, I was deprived of the pro- 
perty which I had employed a great part of my life in acquiring, and 
was thrown upon the world at an advanced age, without resource, 
Mr, George Woodfall, as soon as he heard of my misfortune, desired 
Mr. Alexander Chalmers to tell me, that if I would publish my 
poems by subscription, he would print them for me at cost price ; 
and, of course, I accepted his generous offer. He, Mr. A. Chalmers, 
and Mr. William Nicol, the son of my old and worthy friend the late 
Mr. George Nicol, of Pall Mall, formed a kind of committee, ar- 
ranged matters, and issued proposals for the publication, and exerted 
themselves to procure subscribers, after having liberally subscribed 
themselves. My old friend Mr. Freeling, now Sir Francis, kindly 
consented to join this amicable committee, but there was no occasion 
t© call him from his important duties. Messrs. Paine and Foss, Long- 



JUNIUS'S LETTERS. 377 

man, Ilees, Orme, and Co., J. Richardson, and J. Murray, obligingly 
received subscriptions, and the work was brought forward with all 
due expedition. One volume only was proposed to the subscribers ; 
but vanity, pride, and folly, which indeed all mean the same thing, 
tempted me to bring forth all the trifles I had written, and extend it 
to two, not reflecting that I thereby not' only reduced my profits 
greatly, but gave additional trouble to Mr. George Woodfall, as we!! 
as much increased my obligation to him. He, however, in the true 
spirit of friendship, disregarded the increased trouble and intrusion 
upon his press, and only regretted, on my account, that I had thus 
lessened the pecuniary advantage which I might otherwise have de- 
rived from so extensive and so honourable a list of subscribers. It 
remains for me to say, that perhaps a more correct work, so far as 
relates to typography, never issued from the English or any other 
press. 

To return for a few moments to Junius, a writer who, for his zeal 
for the British constitution, and the spirit and elegance with which he 
defended it, deserves to be classed among its strongest champions ; 
it must be acknowledged that he was inconsistent and cruel in the 
manner in which he mentioned our revered sovereign George the 
Third. Sometimes Junius speaks of that amiable monarch as pos- 
sessing the best of hearts, and sometimes as one of the basest men 
in the kingdom ; though he was unable to bring any positive charge 
against the king, that, if justly founded, was not rather applicable to 
his ministers. 

George the Third was a quiet, domestic, and benignant monarch. 
He was fond of the fine arts, and was a liberal patron of them. To 
his liberality we owe the Royal Academy, to which we are indebted 
for that progress in national taste which has rendered the British 
school of painting superior to that of any other country. He was 
accused of being obstinate with respect to the American war ; but 
that reputed obstinacy may more justly be considered as a true sense 
of the dignity of his crown, and firmness in supporting it, that he 
might maintain the honour of the empire, and transmit it unimpaired 
to his successors. I heard the great Lord Chatham say in the House 
of Lords on this subject, as I have mentioned in another place, ad- 
dressing the advocates for American independence, " Would you 
disinherit the Prince of Wales of his legitimate possessions ?" And 
surely his majesty had a right to try to retain the full extent of his do- 
minions. What would the world have thought, and what would history/ 
have said, if George the Third had surrendered America without a 
struggle, to a set of men who at that period appeared to be only a 
band of ambitious demagogues, who made their opposition to the 
government at home the ground of their own aspirations to lead in a 
republic 1 Granting that it was a hopeless attempt to recover the 
submission of the American colonies, still that attempt was the act 
of his ministers, and they are not very sound statesmen who can only 
form their judgments when the events are before them. But this 
important question is now effectually settled. America seems to be 



378 RECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

under a wise and resolute government, which, however, no political 
sagacity could possibly anticipate or predict ; and it is probable that 
both countries will be benefited by the separation, while they exist in 
independence and in friendship with each other. I therefore can- 
not but condemn Junius for his virulence and gross personality against 
a monarch, who, feeling the dignity of his station, was anxious to 
support and to retain the whole of his empire, for the advantage of 
his country as well as from his own conscientious sense of duty, and 
also as a monarch to whom was intrusted the honour and welfare of 
his empire. 

Junius was, therefore, in a dilemma, for if he thought that the 
ministers acted solely according to the uncontrollable will of the 
monarch, his attacks should have been confined to the monarch ; but 
if he thought that the monarch, whose private virtues he acknow- 
ledged, submitted to the judgment and discretion of his ministers, his 
censure should wholly have been addressed to them. But the wisest 
men are limited in their faculties, and can only act according to ex- 
isting circumstances and probable prospects ; and that consideration 
will excuse, if not justify, the opposition to American independence. 

There is this insuperable obstacle in the way of all attempts to 
discover the author of Junius : he says, " I am the sole depositary of 
my own secret, and it shall perish with me." Therefore, if he were 
to avow himself, he could not expect to be credited, and nothing but 
a succession of letters, written with equal spirit, vigour, knowledge, 
and satirical severity, could support his pretensions. My friend Mr. 
Richardson informed me that Charles Fox and Mr. Sheridan thought 
lightly of Junius, and said that there was as good writing every day 
in the newspapers. The public evidently think otherwise ; for, though 
the reputation of these celebrated compositions has been assigned to 
many individuals, pubHc confidence has not been attached to any 
of them. 

My friend Dr. Kelly, of Finsbury-square, published a tract, in 
order to prove that Burke was the author, and cited many parallel 
passages from acknowledged works of Burke, comparing them with 
extracts from Junius, yet they are not of so striking a similarity as to 
decide the question. Junius, in recommending a union among the 
opponents of government who had differences among themselves, 
says, " I would accept a simile from Mr. Burke, and a sarcasm from 
Colonel Barry." This was written while Mr. Burke was in the 
zenith of his reputation, and can it then be supposed that if he were 
Junius, he would have mentioned himself in a manner boi'dering on 
contempt, as if he could offer nothing better than a simile as an 
orator and a politician ? As to the opinion of Charles Fox and Mr. 
Sheridan respecting the merit of the letters, even granting that the 
public journals contain productions of great excellence, which can- 
not, indeed, be denied, yet it must be admitted that Junius set the 
example of a style which improved the English language, and has 
been imitated by most succeeding writers on similar topics. 

It has been said that Dr. Johnson gave a dignity to the language ; 



JUNITIS'S LETTERS. 379 

but it may be justly observed, that his style has never been imitated 
in the same degree as that of Junius, and has even been often charged 
with being pompous, turgid, inflated, and disproportionate to the sen- 
timents which he intended to express. Dr. Johnson's remark, that in 
Junius there was more of the venom of the shaft than the vigour of 
the bow, is not an accurate description, for it is hardly possible for 
language to be stronger than that of Junius, when he puts forth all 
his vigour. It has been observed that Junius never attacked Dr. 
Johnson, and from his silence in that respect, it has been inferred 
that Burke was the author, and, therefore, spared Dr. Johnson as a 
friend ; but Burke was so irritable a man that he would have spared 
nobody, even as an avowed author. The violence and virulence of 
his temper were evident in his separation from Charles Fox, with 
whom he had for many years been upon terms of the closest intimacy 
and friendship, though Fox was so affected as to shed tears on the 
occasion ; and Burke afterward wrote a pamphlet against Fox, ac- 
cusing him of treason, on the subjeet of Mr. Adair's mission to Rus- 
jsia, as the imputed ambassador to the empress from Charles Fox and 
his party. 

But with respect to the forbearance of Junius towards Dr. Johnson, 
it may reasonably be supposed that he alluded to Johnson when he 
mentioned " the learned dulness of declamation," and had no occasion 
to appear in more direct opposition to the great moralist and poli- 
tician ; if he had attacked him, however, it is by no means probable 
that he would have sunk under the weight of the ponderous lexicog- 
.rapher. 

It has been said that it was in the power of Burke to imitate any 
style, and his pamphlet in the manner of Lord Bohngbroke has been 
mentioned as affording a proof that he was master of the language, 
and could therefore easily assume that of Junius ; but it was not 
so much the language of Lord Bolingbroke that he imitated, as his 
lordship's mode of reasoning, for there is not so marked a character 
in his style as in his argument and the general tendency of his com- 
positions. Perhaps, too, if Burke's pamphlet had not been brought 
forward as an avowed resemblance of the manner of Lord Boling- 
broke, it never would have appeared in that light to the public. 
Besides, when Junius wrote his first letter, which bears no resem- 
blance to the style of Burke, he had no reason to apprehend that he 
should be drawn into a controversy which would render it necessary 
for him to conceal himself from the world at large, and oblige him 
to assume a style different from his own, as would have been the 
case if Burke had been the author. " Style," says Gibbon, " is the 
image of character," and Burke's natural style was too diffuse, flowery, 
and metaphorical to represent such a character as might be supposed 
to attach to Junius, who is shrewd, compact, neat, and pointed. 

But of all the absurd attempts to discover Junius, that of Mr. 
Philip Thicknesse was the most hopeless and improbable, who pub- 
lished a pamphlet to prove that Mr. Home Tooke was the author, 
as if Mr. Home Tooke would assume an anonymous character to 



380 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

triumph over himself: to say nothing of the laboured accuracy of 
his style compared with that of Junius, besides many otheF considera- 
tions that must occur to every reflecting mind. I have mentioned in 
another place that Mr. Home Tooke told me that he knew the author 
of Junius thirty years after Junius ceased to write, and when he could 
hardly have had any reason for concealment. 

My old friend Mr. Boaden, a gentleman well known and justly 
respected in the literary world, has devoted much attention to the 
subject of Junius, and at one time was disposed to give the palm to 
Mr. Gibbon, and has cited many passages from both writers which 
bear a strong resemblance to each other. Mr. Boaden addressed 
the late Lord Sheffield in a letter, and cited those parallel passages. 
His lordship returned a very polite answer, but, though he differed 
from Mr. Boaden, and intimated that he knew Mr. Gibbon was not 
Junius, yet his lordship did not offer any strong reason to support his 
positive negation. That Mr. Gibbon had a povv^er of sarcasm and a 
force of eloquence sufficient to justify Mr. Boaden's surmise, is evi- 
dent ; but considering the benevolence of Mr. Gibbon's character, 
and the suavity of his manner, it may be doubtful whether he would 
ever have written with the virulence and asperity which may often 
be discovered in the letters of Junius. 

I attended the late Dr. William Hunter's lectures on anatomy at 
the same time that Mr. Gibbon and Dr. Adam Smith were fellow- 
pupils, and heard much of the conversation which passed between 
the former and Dr. Hunter ; for Mr. Gibbon, at the end of every 
lecture, used to leave his seat to thank the doctor for the pleasure and 
instruction which he had received. The mild, courteous, polite, and 
affable manners which Mr. Gibbon on these occasions manifested„ 
"were very different from those which may be supposed to have ani- 
mated the mind of Junius ; to say nothing of the piety of Junius 
occasionally, which will hardly be attributed to the skeptical historian. 



CHAPTER LHI. 

Though I have mentioned Mr. Sheridan under a particular head^ 
yet as I write without method, and as matters casually occur to my 
memory, I shall insert them as they present themselves. If I did 
not seize these scattered recollections, they would perhaps never 
recur. 

Mr. Sheridan was one of our great men, and will not only live in 
dramatic annals, but be recorded in the history of the country. His 
errors as well as his good qualities should be known, that they who 
may emulate his merits may also avoid his faults. He is a proof how 
a mind originally proud, delicate, and honourable, may be warped 
and injured by adversity, which often sours the temper and corrupts 



MR. SHERIDAN. 381 

the heart. Almost all his errors may be imputed to his necessities, 
which destroyed the balance of his mind. His talents raised him 
into a rank which he had not the means of supporting. When sober^ 
he was cheerful and good-humoured. When he had drunk to© 
much, he sometimes became misanthropic, splenetic, ready, and 
almost eager, to offend. Our mutual friend, Joe Richardson, who 
was a penetrating observer, and knew Sheridan better than anybody, 
said that in his sullen fits he " would search his mind for the bitterest 
things that he could conceive," and freely give vent to them against 
the person at whom his temporary pique, or rather anger, might be 
directed. But this was the result of those pecuniary difficulties 
which compelled his pride to submit to obligation. 

I will only mention one instance of this unfortunate dispositioo, 
which occurred at a time of convivial excess, that happened at Kelly's 
saloon in Pall Mail, which ^velly kindly concealed, but which I learned 
from Richardson. On this occasion he had taken offence against the 
late Mr. John Kemble, and had assailed him in the most bitter manner, 
Kemble had borne this venomous hostility for some time with great 
patience, and had pushed round the bottle in hopes that Sheridan 
might be tempted to drink away his anger ; but finding that, as the 
lion lashes himself into fury, so Sheridan's rancour seemed to increase^ 
unable to bear the provocation any longer, Kemble seized a decanter 
and threw it at Sheridan, who luckily turned his head aside and 
escaped a blow which might otherwise have been fatal. The com- 
pany then interfered, Sheridan apologized for his ill-humour, and as 
they were really both liberal-minded and good-natured men, they 
went out soon after in perfect amity together. 

Sheridan was indeed good-natured, and if he had been a man of 
fortune would not only have been a man of nice honour, as Richardson 
said of him, but have been a liberal patron and a generous friend. I 
met him one day v/hile the naval mutiny spread a general alarrsra, 
when Mr. Canning had styled him the " glorious exception" from th® 
revolutionary principles of his party ; and, alluding to his conduct in 
parliament, which had procured him this honourable distinction, he 
said, " Well, Taylor, though our politics differ, what do you think of 
me now?" " Why," said I, "it is possible for people to condemn im 
public what they privately encourage." " Now," said he, " that's very 
unhandsome." " What !" rejoined I, " you, the great wit of the age,, 
not take a joke ?" " Oh," said he, recovering his good-humour in a 
moment, " a joke, is it ? Well, it is, however, the dullest i ever heard, 
and I am sorry you have no better, but I shall be glad to see you at 
Polesden." 

Having been annoyed by the appearance of flying spots on the 
paper when he read or wrote, he sent to me, requesting that I would 
call on him and give him my opinion upon the subject. As I was 
going I met Mr. Courteney, the Irish wit, v/ho was long the Momus 
of the House of Commons. Hearing I was going to look at Sheri- 
dan's eyes, he asked the reason. I told him that Sheridan complained 
of flying spots before them, which were called ^^ musccE^voIantesJ" 

R3 



382 RECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

" No," said Mr. Courteney, " with Sheridan they should be called 
vino-volantes!^ 

Mr. Sheridan asked me one morning to attend the rehearsal of 
Hamlet by Mr. Foole, a nephew of my old friend Jesse Foote, the 
popular surgeon. I went to the theatre and concealed myself in one 
of the upper boxes until the rehearsal ended, and then joined Mr. 
Sheridan on the stage. 1 afterward wrote an introductory address 
for Mr. Foote. Mr. Foote, as well as I can recollect, recited the 
iirst speech of Richard the Third, and was kindly encouraged by Mr. 
jSheridan. In the course of conversation, I asked Mr. Sheridan what 
he thought of Garrick's Richard. He said it was very fine, but in 
his opinion not terrible enough. I mentioned this opinion to Mrs. 
Siddons, and she exclaimed, " Good God ! what could be more terri- 
ble ?" She then told me, that when she was rehearsing the part of 
Lady Anne to Garrick's Richard, in the morning, he desired that when 
at night he led her from the sofa, she would follow him step by step, 
as he said he did a great deal with his face, and wished not to turn it 
from the audience ; but such was the terrific impression which his 
acting produced upon her, that she was too much absorbed to pro- 
ceed, and obliged him, therefore, to turn his back, on which he gave 
her such a terrible frown, that she was always disturbed when she 
recollected it. 

During the agitation of the first Regency bill, when Lord Lough- 
borough so unluckily involved the opposition in legal difiiculty, which 
the presence of mind and sound wisdom of Mr. Pitt rendered insu- 
perable, I became, by a circumstance of some importance in the 
political world at that time, the conductor of " The Morning Post." 
It appeared that a lady, supposed to be in great favour with a high 
personage, and not merely connected by the ties of mutual affection^ 
had determined to assert claims not sanctioned by law, but which, if 
openly developed, or rather promulgated, would, perhaps, have been 
attended by a national agitation. It was stated in " The Morning 
Post," rather as rumour than assertion, that the lady in question had 
demanded a peerage and 6000Z. a year, as a requital for her sup- 
pression of a fact which might have excited alarm over the empire, 
and have put an effectual stop to all farther proceedings on the sub- 
ject of the pending regency. 

I was engaged merely as the dramatic critic for •' The Morning 
Post" at that time, and was on intimate terms with a confidential ser- 
vant of the high personage alluded to. This confidential servant sent 
to me, and when I went to him he assured me that there was not the 
least foundation for the paragraph in question, and requested that I 
would convey this assurance to the person who ho.^ farmed the paper 
from the chief proprietor. I told him I was convinced that such a 
communication would have no effect, or rather a contrary effect, for 
that, finding the subject had made an impression, it would certainly 
be followed by articles of the same nature and tendency, and that 
silence was the best policy. The person alluded to did not seem to 
be convinced by my reasoning, and determined to consult people 



Editor of the morning posf. 38^ 

more likely to form a better judgment ; yet he desired me in the 
sffiean time to convey the assurance which he had given. I did so, 
andjfis I expected, there Vi^as next day a stronger allusion to the same 
mysterious and alarming event. The same confidential agent, then 
satisfied of the propriety of the advice which I had first given, asked 
me if I thought that the farmer of the paper, who was also a proprie- 
tor, would dispose of the period for which he was authorized to con- 
duct it, and of his share in the paper ; and I was desired to make the 
requisite inquiry. I did so, and as the farmer possessed no literary 
talents, and " The Morning Post" had sunk under his management 
into a very different state from its present fashionable interest and 
political importance, he was glad of the opportunity of relieving him- 
self from a weight which he had not strength enough to carry. He, 
therefore, struck the iron while it was hot, received a large sum for 
his share of the paper, another for the time that he was to hold a con- 
trol over it, and an annuity for life. Such was the importance attached 
to this mysterious secret : " The Morning Post" was purchased for 
the allotted period, and I was vested with the editorship. I may here 
mention a circumstance that illustrates the character, or rather the 
opinion of Dr. Wolcot. When the confidential agent to whom I have 
alluded first communicated to me the extravagant claims of the lady 
in question, and the public commotion which she was Hkely to occa- 
sion if she persevered in her pretensions ; the doctor, who was present, 
laughed, and said, " Oh ! there is no reason to be alarmed, the matter 
is easily settled." When I asked him what was to be done, his answer 
was, " Why poison her." " What !" said I, " doctor, commit murder 1" 
"Murder !" rejoined he, "there is nothing in it ; it is state policy, and 
is always done." Though the doctor said this with jocularity, yet 
such was the impression that history had made on his mind, and such 
his opinion of all foreign courts, that having very unfavourable ideas 
of mankind in general, he might indeed impute the probability of such 
a practice to our own court. He certainly had no intention to suggest 
such an expedient upon the present occasion ; but if there was any 
temptation for a joke, it was impossible for him to resist it. 

I held the situation of editor for about two years, as far as I can 
recollect ; but as the chief proprietor, from whom it had been farmed, 
not only disapproved of my editorship, but, as he said, '* thought I had 
not devil enough for the conduct of a public journal," and frequently 
expressed his discontent, and as the great business which had occa- 
sioned the purchase had passed by, I signified my readiness to relin- 
quish the management, and two young Irishmen were introduced as 
my successors. Knowing the dashing spirit of the Irish character, I 
advised the printer, who received a weekly sum to be responsible for 
the contents of the paper, to be careful what he inserted. He assured 
me with thanks that he should be cautious ; but the result was, that 
soon after he was confined in Newgate during twelve months for the 
insertion of a hbel, and an action was brought against the proprietor 
himself for another on a lady of quality, which subjected him to three 
thousand pounds damages, and enormous law expenses. He then, I 



384 KEGORDS OP MY LIFE. 

heard, in the bitterness of his heart, lamented that he " had ever parted 
•with Mr. Taylor." To add to his misfortune, the lady in question 
subsequently gave occasion to a suspicion that the original charge 
against her was not without foundation. Whether, with a due sense 
of morality, he regretted more her imputed desertion from virtue than 
the loss of his money, I never thought it necessary to inquire. 

As to the mysterious transaction which led to this extraordinary 
purchase, it indeed was understood, that the distinguished female in 
question received a recompense for withholding her demands adequate 
to the full extent of her ambitious pretensions. It may amuse the 
reader to say a few words more respecting the proprietor of " The 
Morning Post," who disgusted me so much as to induce me to resign 
a profitable engagement, because my conduct of the paper was con- 
trary to his opinions, if he was able to form any. 

It was urged in mitigation of damages in his defence to the action 
brought against him for the libel on the lady of quality, that he never 
interfered in the management of the paper, but purchased a share in 
it, merely as he would do to farm the post-horse duties, or to be con- 
cerned in any mercantile speculation. The truth however is, that he 
was always interfering, and before the time that I have mentioned as 
having myself been appointed the editor, the person to whom he had 
surrendered the whole control of the paper had employed the Rev„ 
Mr. Jackson, afterward so well known, and who was tried in Dublin 
for treasonable practices, to write the leading articles for "The Morning 
Post." Mr. Jackson was a very able writer, and gave such a variety 
to his political compositions as rendered them very amusing, as well 
as expressive. He generally wrote in a very large hand, upon very 
large sheets of paper, which appeared like maps, or atlases spread 
over the table. The proprietor in question, unexpectedly entering 
the room one evening, suddenly retreated in dismay, and afterward 
observed that Mr, Jackson should be dismissed, otherwise he would 
ruin the property by the vast quantity of paper which he consumed 
in writing his political articles. 

He had been prepared with a lesson to complain of my manage- 
ment of the paper, but unluckily had not memory sufficient to retain 
his task. Among other complaints, he told me that the paper was 
wholly confined to polities, and had none of those little antidotes which 
had before diverted the readers. The poor, or rather, indeed, rich 
man, had doubtless anecdotes strongly impressed upon his mind, but 
not understanding the meaning of the word, it is not wonderful that 
he should have forgotten the sound. His late majesty, when Prince 
of Wales, once dined with this person at his country-seat, and having 
observed that the v/ine was very good, "Yes," said his wise landlord^ 
*' it is very good, but I have better in my cellar." " Oh !" said the 
prince, " then 1 suppose you keep it for better company." This re- 
buke, however, v.'as quite unintelligible to " mine host," who did not 
think of sending for a bottle of his superior vintage. 

While I conducted " The Morning Post," the evenings passed pleas- 
antly at the office. Dr. Wolcot was a constant visiter, and generally 



EDITOR OF THE MORNING POST. 385 

wrote some whimsical articles for the paper. Mr. Merry, generally 
known by his poetical designation of Delia Crusca, was a frequent 
visiter, and he and 1 used to scribble verses in conjunction. Mr. Bil- 
lington also, the first husband of the celebrated syren, a man of great 
humour, often enlivened the society by humorous remarks, and anec- 
dotes of the musical and fashionable circles. Yet the business of the 
paper was not neglected, for I have often remained at the office till 
three o'clock, to revise, correct, and guard against the accidental in- 
sertion of any improper article, moral or political. 

I endeavoured all I could to procure a regular salary for Dr. 
Wolcot, having a high opinion of his inventive powers and humour, 
but the surly proprietor was taught to be afraid of the freedom of his 
muse. I even offered the doctor half of my weekly salary, but 
neither his pride nor his dehcacy would permit him to assent, and he 
still supplied his gratuitous effusions, chiefly of the poetical kind. 
We were plentifully supplied with punch, the doctors favourite bev- 
erage, and as far as our limited party admitted, the meeting might be 
considered as Comus's court. This literary and convivial revelry 
continued nearly to the end of the two years during which I held the 
editorship of " The Morning Post." Here I feel myself under the 
painful necessity of mentioning my quondam friend Merry in a man- 
ner unfavourable to his character, and distressing to my feelings, as 
notwithstanding his treatment of me, I really regarded him almost as 
a brother, and still feel towards him an affectionate regret. 

He had requested me to endeavour to induce the late Mr. Harris., 
then chief proprietor of Covent Garden theatre, to renew his v^afe's 
engagement. Mr. Harris said that he should be very glad to re- 
engage her at his theatre, but that he was persuaded he should be sub- 
ject to attacks from her husband in the newspapers, unless she was 
allowed to perform every character she liked, and to be provided 
■with the most expensive dresses. He desired me to get him out of 
the dilemma, which he deemed the application to be, and to say that 
' his company was too abundantly supplied with performers in general 
to admit of any more. I endeavoured to satisfy Merry with this an- 
swer, but in vain ; he expressed much discontent with the rejection 
of the ladj% and I have reason to believe that Mr. Harris was in con- 
sequence the subject of his nevv'spaper hostility. 

When this negotiation failed, Mr. Merry requested that I would 
write to Mr. Stephen Kemble, who was related to me by marriage, 
and then the manager of the theatre at Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and 
try to procure an engagement for Mrs. Merry. I did so, but, pend- 
ing this new negotiation, there appeared in an obscure evening news- 
paper called " The Telegraph, and long since defunct, a violent attack 
upon me, not mentioning my name, but alluding to me in my pro- 
fession of oculist. The cause of this attack was an account of the 
representation of " Venice Preserved," which vehemently censured 
the democratical principles that were inculcated by Pierre and his 
M\Q^^' -reformers. This account appeared in a daily paper, also now 



386 RECORDS OF MIT LIffi. 

defunct, entitled " The True Briton," of which I was theft a pro- 
prietor. 

Merry perhaps suspected that the account was written by me, but 
if so he was mistaken, for though I was one of the proprietors of 
the paper, the conductor at that time was the late John Gifford, Esq., 
afterward one of the police magistrates. Conscious of my integrity, 
and not ashamed of my attachment to the political principles and 
Judicious administration of the glorious William Pitt, I did not think 
it necessary to take any notice of the anonymous libel ; but many of 
my friends thought otherwise, and observed, that if I remained wholly 
silent, I should be thought to acquiesce in the truth of the charges. 
I therefore applied by letter to the editor of the paper, an Irishman 
named M'Donnell, whom I had known before, requiring the name of 
the author, expressing my suspicion that the libel upon me had been 
written by a known defamatory author of that time. M'Donnell 
affected to consider it as an insult that I supposed he could be ac- 
quainted with such a character as I described, and therefore replied 
that the matter ought now to be settled between him and me. Con- 
sidering this hostile intimation as an attempt to evade my farther en- 
deavours to discover the writer, I laughed at his implied proposition, 
and assured him that I should resort to the law, not to the field, for a 
decision. Finding me resolute, he relaxed from his martial menaces, 
was very civil, and assured me that before the end of a month I 
should know the author. 

Previous to this application, as M'Donnell had entered the Temple 
^s a barrister, I examined the entry to procure his Christian name, 
that I might be prepared for a prosecution, and in my letter, I ad- 
dressed him to the full extent of his Christian and surname, to alarm 
him as to the possible consequences. To my utter astonishment, at 
the end of about a week, I received a letter from Merry, acknow- 
ledging himself to be the author of the libel upon the man who at that 
very time was endeavouring to serve him by procuring an engage- 
ment for his wife. I received this acknowledgment rather " in sor- 
row than in anger," and admiring Merry for his genius, his humour, 
and his learning, thought of taking no other notice of his letter than 
to show it to our mutual friends for my own justification. I may as 
well, however, insert the libel, in order to show the full extent of 
treachery, malice, and ingratitude, which characterized the whole 
transaction. 

"A Query. — Who is the man that can violate every principle of 
private confidence ? Who is the man that can sacrifice every prin- 
ciple of public virtue to the most sordid self-interest ? Who is the 
man that, without remorse, can disturb the tranquillity of domestic 
happiness ? Who is the man that, without mercy or common decency, 
can wound the peace of every honest individual ? Who is the man 
that is false to his friends, inimical to the liberties of his country, the 
slanderer of all merit, the panegyrist of all infamy ? Who is the 
most venal, the most sJiajneless, the most savage of mankind ? The 



MR. MERRV. 387 

feheriiy of hope, the advocate of despair ? It is the Reptile Ocu- 
list. Hie niger est, /tunc tii Romane caveto." 

I revive this elaborate and atrocious Hbel, because I am conscious 
that it is in every point v^^hoUy inapphcable to me, and because it is a 
striking illustration of the malignity to which human nature may be 
reduced. While Merry was a man of fortune, which was before I 
knew him, I have heard from good judges that he was liberal, open- 
hearted, and benevolent ; but he had exhausted his fortune, and it 
was said that he was chiefly supported by an English lady of quality 
in Florence, till the lady had formed a connexion w ith a person of 
high rank. 

Merry was in France during the most frantic period of the French 
revolution, and had imbibed all the levelling principles of the most 
furious democrat ; having lost his fortune, and in despair, he would 
most willingly have promoted the destruction of the British govern- 
ment, if he could have entertained any hopes of profiting in the 
general scramble for power. 

To resume my story. In consequence of the apprehension of 
legal punishment for this unprovoked and malignant libel, the follow- 
ing article was inserted in " The Telegraph :" — " An article appeared 
in this paper of the fourth instant, under the title of a Query, describ- 
ing, in the grossest terms, the gentleman against whom it was directed. 
Those who know the hurry with which a newspaper is made up, 
will allow for the accidental insertion of offensive matter ; and as 
such w^as the case in that instance, we have no hesitation in expressing 
our regret that the article in question was admitted, as we are fully 
convinced the gentleman alluded to is not a proper object for such an 
attack." This article appeared in " The Telegraph" of the 23d of 
November, 1795. On the 30th of the same month, to my utter 
astonishment, I received the following letter from Mr. Merry, the last 
man on earth whom I should have suspected of having written tha 
libel in question. 

" to john taylor, esq. 

" My dear Friend, 
" Mr. M — — (M'Donnell) has informed me that you impute to me 
a paragraph which appeared some time ago in " The Telegraph." I 
will be candid with you and explain the matter. We had been drinking 
n great deal of wine, and in fact I was drunk. When " The True 
Briton" was produced, in which were some very cruel and malignant 
attacks on Mr. Barnes, Mr. Bannister, and another, the intent of which 
appeared to strike at the life of the first-mentioned gentleman, and 
at the professional interest of the latter, it was absolutely affirmed 
that you were the author. In consequence, the obnoxious paragraph 
was produced, and 1 own that, heated as I was with wine, my indig- 
nation got the better of every other consideration, and I was aiding 
and abetting in the composition of the same. I really, however, 
never felt more hurt or confounded than when I saw it on the fol- 
lowing day — and being now perfectly convinced that you were not 



388 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

the author of the paragraph which had so exasperated us, I do most 
■wilhngly and sincerely beg your pardon for the part I took in the 
transaction, and hope you will forgive me, and endeavour to forget it.. 
You cannot suppose that I could wish to hurt you in any way, as I 
have never received any unkind ness from you ; on the contrary, have 
always found you ready to do me any good office in your power. I 
again repeat, that I am truly concerned at what has happened, and 
that I never will be induced to act in any manner by you but as your 
friend and well-wisher. Believe me, I feel the truest regard for you^ 
and am sincerely and affectionately yours, 

« R. M. 

" November 30, 1795." 

In the first place, it is proper to observe, that a letter from the 
editor of " The Telegraph" assured me that he received the libel in 
question not from a jiarty, as Mr. Merry's letter imports, but from an 
individual. In the next, that I knev/ nothing of the Mr. Barnes 
mentioned in the letter, but remember that a person of that name 
had been suspected of having fired an air-gun at our revered monarch 
George the Third, about that period. As to BIr. Bannister (junior), 
I had the pleasure to be acquainted with him early in life, and was so 
zealous in supporting him, that his father never met me without say- 
ing, " I am at ail times glad to see you, as you have been always Jack's 
friend." Finally, I repeat, that I was not the author of the paragraph 
that Mr. Merry states to have been the cause of his furious attack 
upon me. 

What adds to the wonder of this extraordinary transaction, a 
short time before, at Mr. Merry's desire, I wrote the prologue to his 
tragedy entitled " Lorenzo," to preserve the memory of our friend- 
ship, and, to use his own words, " that we might go down to posterity 
together." I had determined to take no notice of Mr. Merry's let- 
ter, but meeting my old and valued friend Sir William Beechey, at 
the house of the late Mr. George Dance, architect and R.A., Sir 
William strenuously advised me to publish it in defence of my char- 
acter. I did so, with an account of the whole transaction, which I 
circulated among my friends. After this publication I received an- 
other letter from Mr. Merry, soliciting a renewal of our intercourse, 
and that we might " shake hands in amity." Of this letter of course 
I took no notice, but had soon after the mortification of seeing him 
on the opposite side of the way in Marlborough-street, looking at me 
as he passed with the aspect of dejection and dismay. 

Poor Merry, I was proud of his friendship ! When I review what 
I have written respecting him, I cannot but apprehend that I may be 
thought to harbour too much resentment against an old friend, for 
whom I have acknowledged that I felt a sincere regard as well as 
admiration ; but his anonymous attack upon me was so bitter, so 
minute, and so comprehensive, that I cannot but fear also it may 
have had some effect upon my character with those who do not know 
me, and though conscious of integrity, and " a conscience void of 



MR. MERRY MR. JOHN ©IFFORD. 389 

offence," yet I am by no means indifferent to reputation. On such 
occasions, therefore, self-defence I consider as a duty which I owe to 
the world at large, particularly as during my long hfe I have been 
generally known. 

To show the regard which I felt for Merry, I will introduce a few 
stanzas from a poem which I addressed to him, in order to attract pub- 
lic attention to his tragedy of " Lorenzo," which was soon after repre- 
sented at the Theatre Royal, Covent Garden. After noticing in 
my poem many of his productions, and praising them highly, I con- 
eluded with the follovv^ing stanzas : 

Say, dost thou, fondly charmed along 
By Fancy's wild and witching sono-, 
With moon-light shadows seek repose, 

The world forgetting and its woes ? 

Does sorrow linger o'er thy lyre, 
And sadly chill the conscious wire ? 
Does love the pensive hour invade, 
And absence veil the darling maid? 

Has malice, perfidy, or pride, 
Struck deep in friendship's bleeding side ? 
Long since thy piercing eye could scan 
" The low ingratitude of man."* 

Lo ! Fame her fairest wreath assigns. 
While Love delighted chants thy lines, 
Oh ! then resume thy melting song, 
And charm the willing world along. 

Fortunately for my reputation, I have the testimony of many int 
my favour, as I may subsequently show, and among others, the fol- 
lowing inscription in a volume entitled " The Beauties of the Anti- 
Jacobin, or Weekly Examiner," a work instituted by the late Mr, 
Canning, of which he and my late friend Mr. William Gifford were 
the chief vv^riters, and the latter was the editor. On the close of 
" The Anti-Jacobin Examiner," Mr. John Gifford, the magistrate, 
was favoured with all the unprinted manuscripts intended for that 
work, which was only to last during the pending session of parlia- 
ment, and upon those manuscripts Mr. John Gifford founded " The 
Anti-Jacobin Magazine," which he conducted with great vigour on 
true constitutional principles. He, however, selected and published 
the beauties of the former work, and the volume which he sent to« 
me contained the following inscription in his own handwriting. 

" TO JOHN TAYLOR, ESQ. 

" From the Editor, with the best wishes that the sincerest friendship 
can suggest, and the most benevolent of hearts excite." 

* A line in one of Merry's poems. 



590 RECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

Mr. John Gifford was the author of " A History of France," some 
admirable " Letters to the Earl of Lauderdale" during the French 
revolution, " The Life of Mr. Pitt," in six volumes, and many other 
political works of great merit. In " The Anti-Jacobin Review," 
there appeared a very severe note upon Dr. Wolcot. Not knowing 
that there were two Mr. GifFords, and confused between " The 
Anti-Jacobin Examiner" and " The Anti-Jacobin Review," the doctor 
thought that the bitter note was written by Mr. William Gifford, and 
therefore proceeded with great haste to the shop of Mr. Wright, the 
bookseller, in Piccadilly, which Mr. W. Gifibrd was in the habit of 
frequenting. The doctor, on entering, observing Gifford, whose 
person he had seen before, said, " Are you Mr. Gifford ?" and with- 
out waiting for an answer, struck him immediately on the head. 
Gifford was strong in the arm, wrested the weapon from him, and 
struck him in return ; a scuffle ensued, and the doctor lost his hat and 
wig, which were thrown to him after he had been pushed into the 
street. 

I passed the house soon after this fracas had happened, and saw 
some drops of blood upon the shop-window, which I was told were 
the effects of Mr. Gifford's blow. The doctor, however, though he 
*' lost some claret," to use the technical term of the Fancy, received 
no essential injury. This violent contest induced Mr. Gifford to 
write his severe poem, addressed to Peter Pindar; and also Dr. 
Alexander Geddes, a poet and a scholar, to publish a poem, entitled 
" The Battle of the Bards." Dr. Geddes published a translation, 
rather of a doggrel kind, of Horace, and a specimen of a translation 
of the Bible, in which he introduced some modern phrases, such as 
that Jephtha's daughter was a " fine girl," and others of an equally 
familiar description. I afterward explained to Dr. Wolcot his mis- 
take in confounding the two Giffords, and attacking the v/rong one. 
When the matter was understood by both parties, all enmity was at 
an end. I succeeded in making them send amicable inquiries as to 
the health of each other, which I conveyed with pleasure, as I did 
between Mr. Gifford and Mr. Jerningham, who had written against 
each other. 



CHAPTER LIV. 

The Lord Chancellor Yorke. The early elevation of this 
eminent lawyer to the highest legal office in the British empire, and 
the loss which the nation suffered by his death soon after his appoint- 
ment, gave occasion to some unfounded surmises and malignant 
rumours, which, no doubt, derived additional strength and cur- 
rency from an implied charge on his majesty George the Third, 
brought by Junius, and which at the time gained a degree of credit 
with the public at large. Junius, referring to these rumours, in a 



LORD-OHANCELLOR YORKE. 391 

note to his thirty-sixth letter, addressed to the Duke of Grafton, seems 
to admit them as well-founded, and promises to give the particulars 
of the supposed transaction, but he did not keep that promise ; and 
as it cannot be imagined that Junius wanted information, or that his 
vindictive spirit was softened by time, it may fairly be inferred that 
he thought the rumours alluded to were false and malevolent. If so, 
it was his duty to acquit the injured monarch of the charge which 
he had rashly brought against him. These rumours were, however, 
revived a few years ago ; and, therefore, the sons of the lamented 
lord-chancellor came forward, under the natural impulse of duty 
and reverence, to vindicate the memory of their honoured father. 
As the subject is interesting, and may give occasion to erroneous 
statements, or mysterious insinuations, in the history of the reign of 
liis majesty George the Third, I feel it a duty of respect to the memory 
of that revered monarch, as well as of esteem for Admiral Sir Joseph 
Yorke, with whom I have for many years had the pleasure of being 
acquainted, to extract the following letter from the transitory columns 
of a public journal into these humble pages. 

" to the editor 01" ' the morning chronicle.' 

" Sir, 
" It has only this day come to our knowledge, that a paragraph 
has appeared in your paper of Thursday last, part of which is stated 
to have been taken from a book lately published, entitled " Parkes's 
History of the Court of Chancery" (which neither ourselves, nor, as 
we believe, any of our friends have hitherto seen), purporting to re- 
late to circumstances supposed to have attended the death of our 
father, Mr. Charles Yorke, in January, 1770. It would be quite in 
vain, and useless in these days to complain of the publication of anec- 
dotes of such a nature as this, after the lapse of nearly sixty years, 
calculated in the highest degree to wound the feelings of individuals 
and of whole families, without any attempt being made to ascertain 
the truth or falsehood, accuracy or inaccuracy, of the facts brought 
forward ; and still less of the insertion, by the editors of the daily 
papers, of articles of intelligence borrowed from books which have 
passed through the press. We have, therefore, no complaint to make 
of such an insertion by them, as far as they copy from the books ; 
the authors of which are, of course, to be considered as responsible 
for what they have published. We think, however, that we have a 
claim on the justice of editors of the public papers, as having now 
given a far greater degree of publicity to a story which (but for its 
insertion in them) might have remained almost unnoticed, to give an 
equal degree of pubhcity to this our formal contradiction of it, when 
we state that the paragraph mentioned is a most false, scandalous, 
and malignant calumny. But in particular, that part of it which con- 
tains an attack, at once so cruel and unmanly, on the memory of our 
late ever-to-be-lamented and honoured mother, is false and malignant 
in the highest degree. The lady thus libelled died a few years ago, 
at the age of eighty, respected by all who knew her. Providentially, 



392 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

she had been withdrawn to a better world before such a vile and 
atrocious calumny appeared, or the knowledge of it must have killed 
her. Providentiallvj many still exist who well know the superior ex- 
cellence of her character and principles ; and that she was wholly 
incapable of contemplating, even in idea, the possibility of such an 
action as that she has been charged with ; who also know the fact, 
that when, after the fate of her ever-regretted husband, she was ear- 
nestly solicited, and pressed to assent to the completion of the peer- 
age intended for him, and which had passed through all the forms, 
except only the affixing the great seal, she positively refused it, and 
would never suffer the offer to be repeated to her. 

" London, Sunday evening, " ^- ^- YoRKE. 

"May 11. "J. YORKE." 

The Lord Bishop of Peterborough. It is with no slight de- 
gree of pleasure that I include this venerable prelate among the 
number of my esteemed friends ; his character is so highly rated for 
his learned theological works, that he may be considered as a distin- 
guished pillar of the established church. I had the pleasure of know- 
ing him about the year 1778, when I was introduced to him by his 
college friend, Joseph Richardson, so well knov/n in the literary and 
political circles at a subsequent period. Another college friend I 
was introduced to at the same time, the Rev. Edward Robson. 

Mr. Herbert Marsh, the present Bishop of Peterborough, was then 
distinguished for his pleasant spirit and good-humour, and I lost sight 
of him for many years, but with Joe Richardson and Ned Robson I 
retained an intimacy till death deprived me of the friendship of both, 
Mr. Robson possessed literary talents, and was a good poet. Before I 
knew him, he had been chaplain to a nobleman whose name I do not 
recollect ; finding that the daughter of this nobleman had conceived 
a partiality for him, he deemed it proper to resign his chaplaincy, that 
he might not be thought to give encouragement to the lady's favour- 
able sentiments. When I first knew him, he was curate to Dr. 
Markham, the rector of Whitechapel church, and though he was 
upon the most friendly footing with the doctor, and dined with him 
almost every day, the doctor paid him the respect of sending a formal 
invitation every morning, which perhaps Mr. Robson, who was not 
without a sense of personal dignity, had deemed necessary. 

For many years, till I first entered into the marriage state, in the 
year 1788, I was in the habit of breakfasting every Monday morn- 
ing with Mr. Robson, who then lived in Whitechapel, and I in Hatton 
Garden. Some days, after he had discharged his clerical duties, we 
passed the day together, dined in the vicinity of Covent Garden, and 
closed the evening at one of the theatres. I was indebted to him for 
much amusement and instruction, and of course feel a sincere respect 
for his memory. During this time Mr. Robson was appointed one 
of the magistrates of the Tower-hamlets ; and I have heard that he 
was as strict in administering justice as in the discharge of his eccle- 
siastical duties. He had, I understood, a small living in Nottingham- 



BISHOP OF PETERBOROUGH ^\V. WORDSWORTH, ESQ. 393 

shire. He followed my example in wedlock, having married the 
daughter of a respectable tradesman in the neighbourhood ; he sur- 
vived his lady, who had been abroad and had qualified herself for 
the situation of governess in a private family, and was an accomplished 
woman. 

I once took Colonel Frederick; the son of the King of Corsica, to 
visit him, and Mr. Robson was much gratified by the accounts of 
places abroad, which the colonel had visited at a former period. Mr. 
Robson was chaplain to the Vintners' Company, and I once passed a 
festive day with them on one of their annual celebrations. 

To return to Mr. Marsh. He had, I understood, gone abroad, 
where he acquired the German language, and published some theo- 
logical and political works in that language, which he afterward 
translated himself into English and published. The political princi- 
ples which he inculcated were sound and constitutional, and his 
theological doctrines, by all accounts, orthodox and profound. A 
few years ago, I had the pleasure of renewing my acquaintance with 
bim, after he had obtained his present episcopal dignity, and found 
that he retained all the pleasantry and good-humour which character- 
ized him in early life, without any abatement of that decorum which 
was suitable to his sacred function. 

I hope his lordship will forgive me if I here introduce two anec- 
dotes which I had the pleasure of hearing him relate at his own table. 
Lord Sandwich, formerly at the head of the admiralty, when any 
application was made to him to subscribe for the repairs of the church, 
or other matters in the neighbourhood of his country-seat, always di- 
rected his name to be put down for ten guineas ; but as his lordship 
was ten years in arrear, the churchwardens applied to him, request- 
ing that he would discharge his engagement. Finding that they really 
expected payment, he laughingly said, " What ! would you kill your 
decoy-duck V but perhaps, after having had his joke, he fulfilled their 
expectations. 

The other anecdote related to the same noble lord. He had heard 
that a neighbouring gentleman, who was sometimes his guest, and 
who was a great gourmand, wore a waistcoat laced behind, so that 
when he had eaten to a certain extent, the pressure of the lace in- 
duced him to check his appetite. Lord Sandwich was desirous of 
seeing the back of the waistcoat, and therefore, when the glass had 
circulated freely, proposed a loyal toast, signifying, that it should be 
honoured by every man with his coat oW. The shrewd gourmand, 
aware of his lordship's design, proposed that they should all take off 
their waistcoats to do honour to the toast ; and as the proposition was 
not more absurd than the other, they assented, and the man contrived 
to pull off his coat and waistcoat together, and huddled them so as 
to defeat the curiosity of his lordship. This story, though trifling in 
itself, v»' ill serve at least to show what follies even very intelligent men 
will commit in Bacchanalian excesses ; and none can doubt the abili- 
ties of Lord Sandwich, whatever may be thought of his morals. 

William Wordsworth, Esq. With the merits of this gentle- 



394 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

man, who has struck out a line of original and natural poetry, v/hich 
must rank his name very high among the bards of this country, I was 
well acquainted, and wished to know personally the author of such 
interesting compositions. To my surprise, conscious of my own un- 
importance, I received a letter from him many years ago, accom- 
panied with two volumes of his " Lyrical Ballads ;" the letter im- 
ported a desire to know what impression his poems, written by an 
author living in rural retirement, had made upon a man living in the 
bustle of active life. It was not a little gratifying to me to find that 
I was known at all to a poet of such original merit, and residing at so 
distant a place. Not having immediately an opportunity of perusing 
the volumes, I wrote to him to acknowledge having received them, 
and expressing my belief that I should very soon have occasion to 
thank him for the pleasure which they had afforded me. Very soon 
after I took up the volumes, and was so much gratified by the impres- 
sive simplicity and original genius which characterized the whole, 
that I wrote to him again, to testify the pleasure which they had 
afforded me. In his answer, he expressed his satisfaction with the 
opinion which I had given of his work, and after a little farther cor- 
respondence between us, I heard from him no more. 

It is usual for the royal academicians to send an invitation to their 
patrons and friends, to view the annual exhibition a day or two before 
it is opened to the public ; when I had the command of a newspaper 
some years ago, I was favoured with a card, particularly from my 
late friend Mr. West, the president, but now I have lost all interest 
of that kind. On one of these occasions, as I was going up the stairs 
of the academy, I overtook Sir George Beaumont and a gentleman, 
whom he introduced to me as Mr. Wordsworth. I was very much 
gratified in seeing him, and he testified similar pleasure in seeing me, 
insomuch that we paid more attention to each other than to the 
pictures. Sir George invited me to dine with him, and to meet Mr. 
Wordsworth, and this invitation the worthy baronet frequently re- 
peated while Mr. Wordsworth remained in town. I hardly need 
add, that these invitations were a source of more than amusement, as 
it would be strange indeed if I had not profited mentally by such en- 
lightened society. 



CHAPTER LV. 

The Rev. Charles Este. This gentleman was not only the 
most extraordinary character whom I ever knew, but, perhaps, the 
most extraordinary of his time. He was educated for the church, 
but was more attached to the stage ; and in a brief biography of him- 
self, which he entitled " My own Life," he states that he had actually 
ventured on the stage, but, after a transient e^periijient, renounced all 



REV. CHAKLES ESTB. 



395 



theatrical adventures, and devoted himself to the church. But though 
he abandoned the stage, his partiality for the theatrical profession con- 
tinued, and he became connected with the most eminent actors of 
his time, particularly Henderson, who was perhaps the most general 
performer since the days of Garrick. 

Feeling the possession of literary powers, he became, as was sus- 
pected, a correspondent of " The Public Advertiser," during the time 
of the late Henry Sampson Woodfall, who first gave the letters of 
Junius to the world. Mr. Woodfall was a well-educated man, a firmi 
friend to the British constitution, and to the proper freedom of man- 
kind. There was a blunt sincerity in his manner, which displayed 
the independence of his mind, his good sense, and his contempt of all 
affectation. It is by no means improbable that Junius knew the man- 
liness of his character, and was induced on that ground to select him 
as the publisher of his letters, though he thought proper to conceal 
his name. In fact there was not, at the period alluded to, any con- 
ductor of a public journal whose character stood so conspicuously and 
so honourably forward as that of Mr. Henry Sampson Woodfall, for 
his brother, Mr. William Woodfall, did not come forth in a similar 
capacity till some years after the existence of " The Public Adver- 
tiser." 

Mr. Este, like Junius, appeared anonymously, and was equally 
solicitous to conceal his name. Whether he at first offered himself 
as a writer for profit, cannot now be known ; but his compositions, 
though singular, and even whimsical in style, were of so original and 
of so amusing a description, that Mr. Woodfall found it expedient to 
engage him as an established correspondent. 

The literary contributions of Mr. Este were chiefly on theatrical 
topics, but always blended with miscellaneous matters. He was well 
acquainted with mankind, and an acute critic on theatrical merit. His 
learning and extensive reading enabled him to supply an abundance 
of illustrative quotations, classical and modern. There was always 
point, humour, and judgment in his theatrical decisions, which were 
strikingly manifested, notwithstanding the peculiarity of his style, that 
often rendered his criticism unintelligible to those who had not attended 
to his manner. His style seemed to be founded on that of Sterne in 
his " Tristram Shandy," consisting of odd breaks, with lines inter- 
spersed, and whimsically compounded phrases, strongly studded with 
quotations, but always connected, forcible, and shrewd, in the opinion 
of those who thought proper to read his articles with attention. His 
style may be said to be a motley mixture of passages from the classics, 
from Shakspeare, from Pope, and from Doctor Johnson, mingled in a 
mass with great native vigour and acuteness. His intimacy with 
Henderson induced him to be a warm panegyrist of that actor, whose 
talents fully justified his literary support. 

On the death of Henderson, which was a severe loss to the public^ 
Mr. Este attached himself to Mr. John Kemble, whose merits he then 
eulogized in " The Public Advertiser" with equal zeal, and a cordial 
friendship seeraed to exist between them. Before the death of Heu- 



296 KECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

derson, however, it was evident that Mr. Este did not estimate the 
talents of Mr. Kemble as he did after that event ; for in his com- 
mendations of Henderson, before he knew Mr. Kemble, there were 
sometimes in his strictures allusions to the comparative formality of 
Kemble's manner, which roused the friendly zeal of the late Mr. 
Francis Twiss, father of the present Mr. Horace Twiss, to take up 
the cause of Mr. Kemble ; and as often as such allusions appeared 
from the pen of Mr. Este in " The Public Advertiser," they received 
implied answers from Mr. Twiss, in the " Morning Chronicle," then 
conducted by Mr. William Woodfall. This sort of bush-fighting 
continued many weeks ; at length, to the regret of all admirers of 
theatrical merit, poor Henderson died; Mr. Este then became known 
to the Kemble family, and was full as zealous in support of them, 
particularly of Mr. Kemble, as he had previously been hostile. 

There was one female branch of the Kemble family upon whose 
acting Mr. Este, as supposed, had been very severe in his public 
strictures ; and it so happened that the lady was afterward married 
to Mr. Twiss, and of course some unpleasant feelings must have oc- 
curred to Mr. Este when he was first introduced to that lady. To 
her honour, however, it should be mentioned, that far from resenting 
any comments on her acting, though they had been remarkably 
severe, Mr. Este became one of her favourite friends. 

I remember a circumstance connected with this subject, which 
appears to me to be worth relating. Mr. Twiss, though he entered 
into a covered controversy with Mr. Este in the public journals, as I 
have mentioned, was so great an admirer of the writings of Mr. Este, 
that he copied all the criticisms of that gentleman, amounting to rather 
extensive manuscripts, and containing all the bitter comments on the 
lady in question ; but when the marriage was agreed on, he deter- 
mined to^ make them all a sacrifice on the altar of Hymen. I hap- 
pened to call on him when he was employed on this expiatory 
oblation, and he read to me every sheet before he threw it into the 
fire, expressing at once his admiration of the force of the writing, 
notwithstanding its peculiarity, and his astonishment at the unmerited 
severity of the strictures. 

Mr. Este and Mr. Kemble at length became so intimate, that the 
latter was induced to embark in a public paper instituted by Mr. 
Este ; and as the paper did not succeed, Mr. Kemble lost about three 
hundred pounds in the adventure. Mr. Este, who doubtless lost as 
much, afterward, in conjunction with the late Captain Topham, 
brought forth a new paper, entitled " The World," which, on account 
of the whimsical style of the writing, and the high tone of superiority 
which it affected, characterizing the other daily papers as the "low 
prints," for some time attracted attention, and seemed to promise 
eventual success ; but as Topham was an enthusiastic admirer of 
Mr. Este, and uniformly endeavoured to imitate his mode of writing, 
" The World" had all its columns filled by the same strange phrase- 
ology, and the public in general looked upon it as a fantastic jargon, 
ihat was principally ridiculous, and generally unintelligible. " The 



REV. CHARLES ESTE. 397 

World," therefore, gradually declined, and at length was wholly 
relinquished. 

If the style of Mr. Este, with its point, humour, and oddity, had 
only formed a portion of " The World," and the rest of the paper 
had been characterized by plain language, matters of fact, early in- 
telligence, humorous effusions, and solid reasoning, it is not improbable 
that it would have been successful, particularly as there was an 
imposing influence in its affected contempt of the other daily journals; 
for I believe it may be observed, that contempt, whether merited or 
not, generally lowers its object. 

On the extinction of " The World," Mr. Este demanded of Top- 
ham an annuity of 200Z. as an equivalent for the terms on which at 
iirst he engaged to contribute his literary efforts in support of the 
paper. Topham demurred, alleging that those terms depended on its 
duration. Without resorting to law to support his claims, Mr. Este 
opened a literary battery against Topham in a paper, since defunct, 
entitled " The Oracle." Thus money, the great disorganizer of the 
most intimate connexions, divided these friends, who seemed to be 
devoted to each other. Este persevered in his attacks, to which he 
annexed his name ; and Topham, unable to oppose the talents which 
he so highly revered, agreed to grant the annuity, which Este secured 
by an insurance on the life of his quondam friend and admiring 
coadjutor. 

Such, I have been assured, was the state of the case between the 
parties, who, of course, never were united again. Topham then went 
to his estate in the country, and devoted himself to rural sports and 
retirement. He was gentlemanly in his manners and courteous ia 
his disposition, but egregiously vain, and anxious for notoriety, even 
to the most ridiculous extravagance in his dress, which rendered him 
not only the object of notice, but of laughter and derision. As a 
proof of his morbid love of notoriety, after he had retired for some 
years, an allusion to his short coat, and exposed limbs, appeared in 
one of the public journals. One of his friends, who knew his dispo- 
sition, cut the article from the paper, and sent it to him in his retreat. 
What would most probably have offended any other man, was very 
gratifying to Topham, who wrote to his friend in consequence, ex- 
pressing his wonder that he was not totally forgotten in London, 
thanking his friend for the communication, and sending him a present 
of game in return for his kindness. 

It has been mentioned that Mr. Este, in his communications with 
Mr. Henry Woodfall, was as mysterious as Junius ; and though it is 
probable that Mr. Woodfall guessed who was his correspondent, it is 
not certain that he positively ever knew him. The pecuniary recom- 
pense which Mr. Este was to receive was to be conveyed to a coffee- 
house, or some stated place, in the same manner as Mr. Woodfall's 
private correspondenqe was to be conveyed to Junius. At length an. 
attack appeared from the pen of the anonymous writer, importing 
that a certain nobleman had ruined himself by gaming. The noble- 
man alluded to was the late Lord Loughborough, but whether his 



398 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

lordship's name was mentioned in the ofFensive paragraph I do not 
remember. His lordship commenced an action against the printer, 
•who was cast and fined a hundred pounds, which the noble lord 
would not accept, but desired Mr. Woodfall to assign to some public 
charity. There was then a suspension of the intercourse between 
the anonymous correspondent and Mr. Woodfall. But after the lapse 
of some months, perhaps longer, the writer addressed Mr. Woodfall, 
desiring to know if he was disposed to receive his communications 
again, and requesting that he would signify his intentions by a simple 
No or Yes in his next paper. Mr. Woodfall, smarting under the con- 
sequences of the prosecution, answered " No," in the largest letters 
that his printing-office contained. This circumstance, which should 
have been mentioned in the due course of the narration, probably 
induced Mr. Este, having tried the force of his talents in the field of 
public literature, to direct his attention to the establishment of a 
public journal under his own control. 

In justice to the memory of Mr. Este, it should be observed, that 
he did not invent the charge against the nobleman in question, as it 
was generally reported at the time, and believed in spite of the legal 
decision. 

Mr. Este was also suspected of having introduced, in the paper 
called " The World," some defamatory articles on the memory of 
liOrd Cowper, which was the subject of another prosecution. It 
was thought strange that reflections on the memory of the dead 
should be the subject of legal punishment, but it was contended that 
defamation of the dead tended to excite disturbance among their 
living relations. However, by the advice and assistance of my friend 
Mr. Const, the counsel, now chairman of the Middlesex sessions, 
this difficulty was also surmounted ; but the fear of such future 
dangers intimidated both Topham and Este, and not only weakened 
their exertions for the paper, but inclined them to dispose of it, or to 
give it a death-blow, which it finally received, and was extinguished 
without regret, except to the parties who were concerned in it. 

Topham was intimately connected with Peter Andrews, a gentle- 
man who had acquired a large fortune by his contracts with govern- 
ment for gunpowder. He became a member of \par] lament, and had 
some reputation for literary talents. He wrote many poetical trifles 
for " The World" newspaper, and the whole of the poetical contri- 
butions for that paper were published in two volumes. The inti- 
macy between Topham and Andrews was so great, that they were 
generally invited together in most companies ; and it was reported 
that they met every morning to form plans for distinguishing them- 
selves by witty dialogues and mutual hons tnots in the evening. But 
as they were both in some degree deaf, they must have been liable to 
fall into miscarriages that would have betrayed their preconcerted 
impromptus. It is therefore hardly probable that they had engaged 
in so hazardous an adventure. 

I was a member of a weekly club entitled " Keep the Line/' 
though perhaps no club could more trespass upon the line of decorum, 



PETER ANDHEWS-— REV. CHARLES ESTE. 399 

which its name implied, with respect to the liberties that the 
members took in rallying each other. Andrews was a member of 
this club, and being of an irritable disposition, was ill qualified to bear 
the satirical and sportive sallies of his associates. It was well said of 
him by Mr. Merry, the poet, that " Andrews considered illness less as 
a misfortune than as an insult." He was the author of several epi- 
logues, purposely calculated for the talents of the late admirable comic 
actor Mr. Lewis, and the late Mrs. Mattocks. These compositions 
were not destitute of humour and point, but were chiefly ludicrous 
exaggerations of the lowest of city manners among inferior trades- 
people, and would have had little effect if not delivered by those 
excellent performers. 

Andrews wrote a play, but the drama was far beyond the reach 
of his powers. He first excited public attention by having seduced 
Miss Brown from the stage, when she was rising rapidly into fame by 
the beauty of her person and her musical and theatrical talents. But 
the subsequent conduct of this lady strongly indicated that he had little 
reason to pride himself on the triumph of his gallantry, as it is by no 
means improbable that any other assailant, with an equal opportunity, 
would have been. equally successful. 

The fate of this captivating syren was pitiable. She went to India, 
and returned to this country with the captain of the Nancy packet, 
to whom she was attached, and the vessel, with the whole of the ship's 
company, was lost among the rocks of Scilly. 

Andrews very early in life began to assume the man of fashion*. 
His father was a drysalter, or of some similar business, in Watling- 
street ; and the son, after assisting his father in the business of the 
day, used to sally forth in the evening with sword and bag to Rane- 
lagh, or some other public place. He gradually formed higher con- 
nexions, and engaging in profitable speculations, soon became intimate 
with the profligate Lord Lyttelton. They were both superstitious^^ 
and fond of relating stories of ghosts, of which Andrews had a great 
collection, and, being a nervous man, he seemed to place implicit con- 
fidence in the most extravagant fictions. Lyttelton possessed supe- 
rior talents, but appeared to be equally credulous. 

Andrews had, as I have observed, a knack of writing epilogues 
chiefly suited to the taste of the galleries of a theatre, or the vulgar 
part of an audience wherever seated. When he had finished a com- 
position of this kind, and received the approbation of the author of 
the play for which it was intended, he generally asked the latter why 
he had not written the epilogue himself; and when the dramatist de- 
clared his want of such ability, Andrews would gradually work himself 
into anger, as a lion lashes itself into fury, because the task had been 
thrown upon him. He was, however, hospitable, kind, and good-hu- 
moured when nothing interfered with the peculiarities of his dispo- 
sition. 

To return to Mr. Este. He published in the year 1795, " An Ac- 
count of his Journey in the year 1793, through Flanders, Brabant, 
Germany, and Switzerland." It is an amusing and instructive work^ 

S 2 



400 RECORDS OP Mr IilFE. 

aed shows great acuteness and observation, as well as industry. It 
IS at times affected in style, but less erratic than that which charac- 
terised his contributions to the public press. The journey was under- 
taken for the laudable purpose of finding the best medical school for 
fiis son, by whom he was accompanied. The latter gentleman is a 
surgeon of eminence in this metropolis, and highly esteemed for his 
personal merits. 

Mr. Este in this work stales that as Pavia was recommended to 
him as a good medical school, he was willing to proceed to that place ; 
but with his usual peculiarity of style he observes, that he " could not 
but be scared by the powers of distance and of doubt." This is a 
strange acknowledgment of the fear of travelling, as he afterward 
ventured twice to the West Indies, in order to settle the concerns of 
the gentleman who married his daughter, one of the most beautiful 
and amiable of women in the estimation of those who had the pleasure 
of knowing her. This lady died in the prime of youth and beauty. 

Mr. Este, as I have observed, was an acute and sound critic on 
acting, and much attached to the last race of performers, particularly 
Garrick and Henderson. His opinions were emphatic and abrupt. 
When the late George Cooke was a popular favourite, I asked Mr. 
Este if he Hked him. He answered energetically, " God forbid." 
And when I asked him his opinion of Mr. Kean, during the zenith of 
iiis fame, his answer was, " He has not an element," not appearing to 
consider the spirit that frequently marks the acting of tliat performer 
as of " the right savour." 

The last time I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Este was at the 
house of our mutual friend Sir William Beechey, where he was all 
animation, and exerted himself so much to entertain us, that, as Sir 
William told me, he felt languid and indisposed on the following day, 
and added that I had killed him by my admiration and encouragement 
of his humorous sallies. 

Mr. Este was one of the readers of the royal chapel at Whitehall, 
sind in my opinion he delivered the sacred service with most impres- 
sive solemnity, though some considered his manner as rather too the- 
atrical. This notion, however, probably arose from his known at- 
tachment to dramatic amusements, and his connexion with theatrical 
performers. Mr. Este told me that he remembered Mrs. Pritchard, 
and, though an excellent comic actress, she was inferior to Mrs. Sid- 
dons in the higher province of tragedy. 

Such, in my humble estimation, is an impartial character of Mr. 
Este. He possessed an acute, discerning, and decided mind, and if 
lie had been trained to politics rather than to the church, would have 
been an able servant of government. He M^ould have had sagacity 
enough to discover all public abuses, and firmness enough to prevent 
their continuance, as far as his power could extend. His form was 
of the middle size and stature. His face was plain, but expressive ; 
and I heard Mrs. Siddons, no mean judge of character and manners, 
once say, that the ease, courtesy, and spirit of his conversation amply 
€©mpensated for any want of beauty in his features. He was firmly 



MAJOR JAMES. 

attached to the British constitution, but the revolutionary principles of 
France, during the period of their ascendency, seemed to have ree- 
dered him a more zealous advocate for liberty than he had been be- 
fore that lamentable event ; yet, on the late king's recovery, nothing 
could manifest more fervid, ardent, and devoted loyalty than his wri- 
tings exhibited in the earlier pages of " The World." 

As a proof, however, that he was considered a friend to revolutionary 
principles, the late Colonel Bosville, who kept an open table for revo- 
lutionary characters, bequeathed 2000?. to Mr. Este. Colonel Bos- 
ville at first kept an open and expensive table at the Piazza Coffee- 
house, and afterward at his own mansion. His guests went without 
invitation, and it was usual among them, wdien they intended to dine 
at the Piazza, or at the colonel's house, to tell each other that they 
dined " at home." The colonel must have been very rich, as well as 
very revolutionary, to support so hospitable ^n establishment. He 
bequeathed, I believe, the same sum to the late Major James, who was 
one of the officers of the wagon-train, and was a favourite agent of 
the late Marquis of Hastings. 

Major James, whom 1 knew in very early life, was generally styled 
Jacobin James, from his supposed attachment to those political prin- 
ciples which made him a favourite with Colonel Bosville. It is said 
that he had advanced 8000Z. in the service of the Marquis of Hastings, 
which his widow, with a large family, was not able to obtain, not for 
want of justice in the marquis, but on account of the impoverished state 
of his affairs. 

Major James was the author or compiler of a military dictionarj/ 
in two volumes, a valuable work, of which he also published ap 
abridgement. The major was attached to poetry as well as to poli- 
tics, and published two volumes of the former, with a portrait of him- 
self, and plates illustrative of passages in his works. He was perpet- 
ually writing impromptus, and hke Master Matthew, in Ben Jonson's 
play, repeated them in the street to every acquaintance whom he met. 
After the first salutation he was sure to say a lady asked him to wTite 
on such a subject, or that some lines occurred to him on such an oc- 
casion. I knew him for upwards of thirty years, and never once met 
him without being favoured with a recital of one or two of his extem- 
porary effusions. He was a friendly, good-humoured man, and if he 
had devoted his pen to military subjects only, would doubtless have 
suggested many hints for the improvement of the service. He was 
understood to be a good Latin and French scholar, and to have con- 
ducted himself through life with integrity and a kind disposition. He 
was very intimate with Mr. Combe, whom I have mentioned m 
another place, and purchased at a large price a fine portrait of that gen- 
tleman, which was painted by Mr. Northcote. 

James was once attacked by a gentleman whom I knew under the 
name of Count Stuarton, a Frenchman, and devoted to the Bourbora 
family. Stuarton wrote a publication entitled " The Revolutionary 
Plutarch," in which he gave a severe account of the family of Boaa- 
parte, and of most of the persons who had distinguished themselves 



402 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

in effecting the French revolution, and by assisting in the elevation of 
the Corsican emperor. These works were by no means relied on as 
authentic memorials, though they had an extensive sale. 

What imputations he cast upon Major James I cannot now remem- 
ber, but they were of so strong a description that James thought it 
necessary to bring an action against the author for the vindication of 
his character, as he was in the military service of his majesty. Fear- 
ing the issue of the trial, the count left this country, and it is said went 
to America. He was a very intelligent and agreeable man, and so 
elegant in his manners as to justify the supposition that he was really 
a foreign nobleman. = 

James left a widow with several children, but on account of the 
failure of his claim on the Marquis of Hastings, in very indifferent cir- 
cumstances. He often expressed a wish to introduce me to his wife 
and family, but never did, and 1 have heard that she married again. 
Mr. Chambers, the late banker in Bond-street, before his own mis- 
fortunes overwhelmed him, advocated her claim on the marquis with 
great zeal, but without effect. 

No man in London had a more extensive acquaintance than James, 
who was an agreeable companion, and was so much invited abroad 
that he must have enjoyed but little domestic intercourse with his 
family. As an epigrammatist he sometimes hit upon a lucky point, 
but his poems have no originality, pathos, or force, and have barely 
the merit of smooth versification. 

Mr. Este, it appears, had been into the city to see his friend Mr. 
Sharpe, a gentleman well known in the literary and political circles, 
and who, 1 believe, is the only surviving member of Dr. Johnson's 
last club. He has generally been known by the designation of " Con- 
versation Sharpe," from the justness of his observations, and the 
abundance of his anecdotes. He was also a member of the " Keep- 
the-line club," which I have already mentioned. Mr. Este returned 
home somewhat indisposed, but declined any refreshing nourishment. 
He was soon affected by a violent fever, which terminated in his 
death, to the regret of all who understood his real character, and 
could appreciate his talents and acquisitions. 

Mr. Combe, who was himself powerful in conversation, told me 
that he enjoyed no conversation more than that of Mr. Este, whose 
whimsical and humorous flights manifested a pregnant and luxuriant 
imagination, as well as varied and extensive knowledge. The late 
Mr. John Kemble was also a great admirer of the original powers 
and conversational talents of Mr. Este, particularly as he was an able 
critic on theatrical performances, and could give Mr. Kemble a faith- 
ful and vivid description of those actors who had been distinguished 
before Mr. Kemble was a candidate for theatrical honours. 

I had the good fortune to see Mr. Barry perform in the decline of 
his hfe ; but I admired his venerable remains, and was surprised, when 
I once asked Mr. Este's opinion of that actor, to hear him say that 
he was " a poor creature." The reason of this opinion, I conceive, 
was that Mr. Este, who looked for intellect rather than for sensibility, 



EEV. JOHN WARNER. 403 

found the latter chiefly in Barry, and both in unrivalled union in Gar- 
rick. It should be remembered, however, that Barry was famous in 
Othello, which Garrick relinquished ; and that he maintained so suc- 
cessful a contention with Garrick in Romeo, that the public judgment 
seemed to be undecided as to the superiority of their respective per- 
formances. 

The Rev. John Warner, D.D. A person more generally known 
than this gentleman by various ranks, has never fallen within my notice. 
From the gayety of his disposition, and, perhaps, from the freedom 
of his conduct, he was commonly styled Jack Warner. He was the 
son of Ferdinando Warner, well known at the time for a publication 
on the gout. The subject of my present attention was a very popu- 
lar preacher at Tavistock Chapel, in Broad-court, Drury-lane. He 
was afterward chaplain to Lord Gower, now Marquis of Stafford, 
■when ambassador to France, just before the first revolution broke 
out in that country. His lordship, struck with horror at the dreadful 
excesses of the people, and finding that there was an end of all 
legitimate governmeut in that country, took an early opportunity of 
returning to England. Dr. Warner was favourable to the principles 
on which the French revolution was founded, but abhorred the san- 
guinary manner in which they were carried into effect. 

No man knew the world better than Dr. Warner, and few equalled 
him in companionable gayety. And here I can give a striking proof of 
that ascendency which Mr. David Williams acquired over his argu- 
mentative opponents in company, by the negligent manner in which 
he passed over their opinions, and avoided giving them a direct 
answer. 

I dined with Mr. Merry, the poet, when Mr. David Williams, Dr. 
Warner, and, as far as I recollect, Sir James Mackintosh, were of 
'the party. The doctor spoke warmly in favour of the revolutionary 
principles of the French demagogues, chiefly directing his discourse 
to David Wilhams, who listened with a sort of affable contempt, 
which absolutely cowed the doctor, who soon retired, though he was 
remarkable for the spirit, humour, and knowledge by which he at 
all times appeared to lead the conversation. When he had retired, 
David Williams, with the same sort of contemptuous negligence, said, 
" That's an odd little man," though the doctor was nearly as large as 
himself, and on any other occasion would have been more than a 
match for him in colloquial powers. 

I once asked the doctor what was his manner of preaching by 
which he had acquired so much popularity. " Why," said he, " I 
used to take two oratorical boxes with me into the pulpit, one filled 
with the virtues, and the other with the vices, and avoided all djy doc- 
trines. When I endeavoured to allure the audience to goodness, I 
took a virtue out of my box, and exhibited it in the most g:owing 
colours. When I attempted to deter them from evil courses, I took 
a vice out of the other box, and represented its odious deformities 
with the most terrific energy, by which means 1 kept my congrega- 



RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

tion awake, which probably would not have been the case if I had 
entered into formal reasoning and theological discussion. 

Ludicrous as this description of himself as a preacher was, it illus- 
trates his manner, and accounts for his eminence among the general 
order of people. He once accompanied the late facetious George 
Selwyn on a mission to Florence, as I understood, to the mother of 
the late Earl of Carlisle, a lady of a very whimsical character ; and 
the letters which he wrote describing the events of his journey were 
highly diverting, but were somewhat too free in their nature. They 
were addressed to the late Mr. Penneck, with whom I dined tete-a- 
tete. After dinner he read them to me, and successively committed 
them to the flames. 

Dr. Warner was a good-looking man, but rather negligent in his 
person, and used to walk in the streets without gloves. I have men- 
tioned him in the article respecting Mr. Charles Townley as one of 
the party who deliberated on the conscience of a Roman Catholic 
priest, and sanctioned his acceptance of a Protestant benefice in the 
gift of that gentleman. I never heard when or where Dr. Warner 
died, and this obscure decease is extraordinary, considering that he 
was so generally known to various classes of society, and so courted 
for his companionable qualities. He was considered as a good Greek, 
Latin, and French scholar. 



CHAPTER LVI. 

John Nicholls, Esq. Above thirty years have passed since I was 
first introduced to this gentleman at the apartments of my old friend, 
the Rev. Richard Penneck, and very many years elapsed before I had 
the pleasure of being again known to him. When I was first intro- 
duced to him, I was struck by the softness of his voice, the suavity of 
his manners, and the extent, variety, and profundity of his knowledge, 
so far as 1 could presume to judge on so casual and brief an interview ; 
and 1 confess I was much surprised at the warmth with which he 
expressed his sentiments when he became a member of the House of 
Commons. But when I read his work, entitled " Recollections and 
Reflections on Public Affairs during the reign of his late majesty 
George the Third," my surprise gave way to my conviction of his 
genuine public spirit and attachment to the British constitution, 
which he seemed anxious to see retained in its full purity. His work 
appears to me to be one of the soundest political productions that 
have appeared in my time. 

I have before said, that I do not pretend to be much of a politician ; 
but my reading has been extensive, and I have had the pleasure of 
conversing with several of the most enlightened characters of my 
time. Considerino; the work of Mr. Nicholis as what ousht to be the 



JOHN NICHOLLS, ESQi 

vade mecum of every lover of his country, I shall take the liberty of 
referring to some passages in it, though I may be accused of presump- 
tion in venturing to form an estimate of so masterly a compositioa^ 
and sometimes to differ in opinion with the learned, sagacious, aad 
patriotic author. 

Mr. Nicholls has traced with great judgment the principal and se- 
condary causes of the French revolution, and considers as one of tfjie 
chief of them the distinction between the noblesse and the bour- 
geoisie : and when we reflecton the profligac)% extravagance, and arro- 
gance of the former, it is rather a matter of wonder that the latter 
should have submitted to them so long. It is to be hoped, for their 
own sakes, that the noblesse in all countries will take warning from 
the fatal history of the French revolution. 

Mr. Nicholls does not approve of triennial parliaments, and gives 
good reasons. Mr. Burke was no favourite with Mr. Nicholls, whoj 
of course, entertained a high opinion of his abilities and knowledge, 
but not of his principles ; and from what I saw and heard of Mr, 
Burke, I entirely concur with Mr. Nicholls. Mr. Burke vy-as violent 
and vulgar. 

Mr. Nicholls says, that " On one occasion he spoke of the Earl of 
Shelburne in terms so coarse and unmeasured as to preclude all pos- 
sibility of reconciliation." This was exactly the style of a vulgar up- 
start, which character he fully manifested in his treatment of Mr. 
Hastings in the House of Lords, as I have mentioned in another place. 

Mr. Nicholls had previously mentioned the " violence and arro- 
gance" of Burke, even to his great patron Lord Rockingham, I 
presume to differ with him, however, respecting the character of Lord 
Thurlow, of whom he says, that "trimming was not congenial to his 
character." But to my certain knowledge, during the king's (George 
the Third) illness in 17S8-9, though he appeared to be acting with 
government during that melancholy period, he used secretly to visit 
Carlton House, where he several times met Mr. Sheridan ; and as 
soon as he found that the king was recovering, he made that memo- 
rable speech in the House of Lords, emphatically exclaiming, that 
when he forgot his sovereign, he hoped his God might forget him. 

Lord Thurlow was certainly in the "heart of the mystery" of the 
opposition party, which he deserted without the least ceremony when 
there appeared gratifying signs of hi:-; majesty's restoration. As a 
strong presumption also that Lord Thurlow secretly consulted with 
Mr. Sheridan during his majesty's illness, and when there was littl© 
hope of his recovery, Mr. Sheridan had drawn up the outlines of a 
prospectus, submitted, no doubt, to his lordship, for changing the pol- 
itics of " The Morning Post," then the chief ministerial paper, which 
had been recently purchased by the party. I had the sketch of this 
prospectus in Mr. Sheridan's own handwriting, which may still be 
among my papers. 

When the opposition leaders, at a private meeting on the subject 
of the first Regency bill, expressed an apprehension that they shoi^M 

S3 



406 RECORDS OF MY LIFE, 

find a powerful adversary in Lord Thurlow, Charles Fox observed, 
4hat they had often opposed him with success in the House of Com- 
mons, and he saw no reason why he should conquer them in the 
Lords; adding, from the old ballad : 

" I trust there are within this land !., ' 

f :' ' Five hundred men as good as he." 

I presume also to differ with Mr. Nicholls in his not very favour- 
able opinion of Mr. Pitt, whom he blames for having been overborne 
against his better judgment to engage in a war against French prin- 
ciples. Mr. Pitt was too disinterested in his character to be influ- 
enced by a love of place, except from a desire to serve his country ; and 
the firmness of his mind was not likely to agree to any measure ex- 
cept upon conviction. Why may it not be supposed that Mr. Pitt 
was alarmed at those revolutionary piinciples which overthrew the 
government of France, and threatened the destruction of every 
throne in Europe 1 Mr. Pitt, to use his own expression, acted accord- 
ing to " existing circumstances," — an accordance that might be true 
policy : for who can pretend to foretell the consequences of any 
measure 1 And Mr. Pitt might think, that to join in an opposition 
to French principles abroad, was one of the best means to secure the 
government of this country. Besides, at that period, there were 
revolutionary spirits at home, who, if they could have destroyed the 
throne, would probably have proceeded to all the bloody horrors of 
the French revolution. 

I venture also to differ with Mr. Nicholls in his estimate of the 
character of his late majesty George the Third. That monarch was 
of a peaceable and quiet disposition, highly amiable in private life, 
benevolent, and a friend to the arts. His reign was too much dis- 
turbed by the intrigues and violence of party : and who can say, that 
to preserve national tranquillity, he did not at times yield to the coun- 
sels of his ministers, contrary to his better judgment ? His majesty 
was a zealous friend to literature, and to those arts which embellish 
and dignify the countr}', and are honourable to the powers of the 
human mind. 

Before I take leave of Mr. Nicholls's valuable work, I ought to 
apologize for venturing at all to otfer my humble remarks on what 
appears to me to be the result of deep and extensive historical know- 
ledge, political sagacity, enlarged views, and sincere devotion to the 
genuine principles of the constitution, and which, while it supports 
the rights and dignity of the throne, equally tends to protect and 
secure the privileges and safety of the people. 

Mr. Nicholls, in his work, speaks favourably of Sir Robert Wal- 
pole ; and in a private conversation, in which I had the pleasure of 
hearing his opinions more at large as to the character of Sir Robert, 
lie said, that it was his chief and constant object to secure the House 
of Brunswick on the throne, and to preclude all possibility of the 
leturn of the Stuarts. Mr. Nicholls took no notice of the enormous 



JOHN NICHOLLS, ESQ. — MR. MATTHEWS. 40t 

system of bribery by which he was accused of supporting his admin- 
istration ; conceiving, I suppose, that Sir Robert, at that critical pe- 
riod, when there was a strong spirit of Jacobitism prevalent in a great 
foody of friends to the Stuart line, thought, as selfishness is the great 
principle of human action, bribery was likely to be the most powerful 
antidote to the political poison, and consequently the best means to 
remove all danger from the Brunswick famil}'. 

Here I may introduce an anecdote which I learned from my friend 
Dr. Monsey, who knew the fact. A public dinner was held at a tav- 
ern in Yarmouth during the reign of George the First. The com- 
pany almost entirely consisted of friends to the Stuart family. The 
king's health, without specifying the name of George, was drunk in 
so mysterious a manner as to alarm a sturdy old farmer, who was 
strongly attached to the new family on the throne : therefore, when 
it came to his turn to pass the toast, he said : — " Gentlemen, the pres- 
ent toast has been given in so enigmatical a way that I do not un- 
derstand it ; therefore, to put an end to all doubts and mysteries, 
here's King George," When the next man in succession was to 
drink the toast, he said: — "Well, then, here's the king that God 
k)ves best." " Hold ! hold !" said the loyal farmer, interrupting him, 
*' that's not King George !" A triumphant laugh of the Jacobite 
party followed, of course, and this simple mistake covered the loyal 
farmer with confusion. 

My father was a member of an evening club, held at a tavern in 
Cross-street, Hatton Garden, which was frequented by the chief in- 
habitants of that neighbourhood, among whom was Dr. Crawford, 
who kept a respectable academy in that street. Mr. Munden the 
actor, and myself, were among his scholars. I did not recollect Mr, 
Munden, but I believe he recollected me ; and as he was a respect- 
able member of society, as well as an excellent actor, I was glad to 
renew our intercourse when he became one of the chief comic props 
of the London stage. 

At the club above mentioned, a Mr. Matthews, an eminent dancing- 
master, v/as among the members. What Churchill says of Davies 
t4ie actor, might, according to report, be said of the dancing-master : 

That Matthews had a very pretty wife. 

Matthews had become acquainted with a Mr. Sterne, a German, and 
a scholar. He wns an usher for the foreign department of Dr. 
Crawford's academy. As he was but in indifferent circumstances, 
Matthews invited him to reside in his house, in Brook-street, Holborn. 
The beauty of Mrs. Matthews unhappily captivated the sensitive Ger- 
man, insomuch that the friends of Matthews expressed their surprise 
that so young and good-looking a man of talents should be received 
as a resident in his house. Matthews became alarmed, and by some 
alteration in his conduct towards Sterne, excited strong suspicions in 
the latter. It unfortunately happened, that one of the children of 
Matthews, unable to eat the whole of a piece of bread and butter, had 



RECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

left the remainder on the table in the room assigned to Sterne, who 
considered it as a studied insult to his poverty on the part of Mat- 
thews, and determined on revenge, not merely on Matthews, but on 
those whom he suspected of having excited his jealousy, and conse- 
quently of having obliged him to quit the house. He, therefore, with 
a concealed brace of pistols, went to the club as usual ; and soon 
after Matthews appeared, he drew forth his pistols, with one shot 
Matthews dead, and with the other attempted to destroy himself, but 
was prevented. He was tried at the Old Bailey, found guilty, and 
sentenced to death. Dr. Crawford, and I believe other friends of 
Sterne, endeavoured to save his life on the plea of insanity ; but in 
vain. 

My father, from motives of humanity, visited him in Newgate, and 
Sterne told him, that as he had suspected him to be one of the chief 
advisers of Matthews, and to have excited his jealousy, he had deter- 
mined to wreak his vengeance on him. He added, that he went for 
that purpose to Dobney's Bowling-green, then a popular place, at a 
part of Islington now called Pentonville, ■which I well remember ; 
that he was going to shoot my father, but that some person accident- 
ally joined in conversation with him, and he was afraid of destroying 
an innocent man. 

Sterne did not deny his attachment to Mrs. Matthews, and lamented 
his unhappy passion, but declared that be had no dishonourable in- 
tention. He took my father by the hand, expressed his regret at his 
suspicions, which my father assured him were wholly unfounded, as 
he had not officiously interfered on the occasion. Sterne then sub- 
mitted to his fate with firmness. What became of Mrs. Matthews I 
never heard ; but it is probable that, recommended by beauty and 
misfortune, she did not want friends. 

I hope I shall not be accused of levity, when, to relieve the im- 
pression of this melancholj" story, I mention, that Mr. Foot (an 
apothecary in Hatton Garden, and the uncle of my late friend Jesse 
Foot, the eminent surgeon, who was ore of the members of the 
club), on one night when the subject was Dutch affairs, suddenly 
exclaimed : " Let me see, who is now the King of Holland ?" A 
general laugh prevailed in the room, and poor Foot was never after- 
ward mentioned except by the title of the King of Holland. 

Dr. Monsey told me that he was once in company with another 
physician and an eminent farrier. The physician stated, that among 
the difficulties of his profession was that of discovering the maladies 
of children, as they could not explain the symptoms of their dis- 
orders. " Well," said the farrier, " your difficulties are not greater 
than mine, for my patients, the horses, are equally unable to explain 
their complaints." " Ah !" rejoined the physician, '« my brother 
doctor must conquer me, as he has brought his cavalry against my 
infantry." 

The late William Clay, Esq. I became acquainted with this 
gentleman, an eminent and wealthy merchant, at the hospitable table 



\VM. CLAY, ESQ. — SINGULAR EVENT IN HYDE PARK. 405 

of my old and esteemed friend Francis Const, Esq., where I heard 
him relate the following story, which he vouched as a fact within his 
own knowledge. 

A gentleman was one morning passing through Fenchurch-streetj 
where he saw a young man in livery, with a pitcher in his hand, 
going for water to a neighbouring pump. The likeness of this young' 
man to a departed friend induced him to stop him and ask his name. 
The name being the same as that of his deceased friend, confirmed 
Mm in the suspicion that the young man was the son of that friend. 
He knew of the existence of the young man, but knew not v/hat 
had become of him. Upon inquiry, the young man told him he was 

servant to Mr. , an eminent wholesale tradesman in that street, 

who was very kind to him, had encouraged his addresses to the 
cook'-raaidj and, on their marriage, had promised to establish them 
in a public-house. It appeared that this tradesman was executor to 
the father of this young man, and therefore the gentleman who had 
thus accidentally met him desired that he would obtain leave of his 
master to be absent for half an hour next day, and then meet the 
gentleman at the same place. In the mean time, the gentleman who 
took so kind an interest in the son investigated the property which 
his father had left, and found that, to the extent of 40, OOOZ., it had 
been bequeathed to the son, whom the executor had kept in servi- 
tude, suppressing the will ; and by promoting his marriage and set- 
tling him in an humble condition, with which he would be probably 
contented, not knowing his rights, hoped to keep him in obscurity and 
himself possess the inheritance. Mr. Clay told me the name of the 
perfidious executor, who, on being applied to with a proper legal 
authority, was thunderstruck, and made no opposition to the claims 
of the young man ; and never after could encounter the gaze of 
those who visited him on business, but constantly bent his eyes upon 
his account-book, and in that manner conversed with them. 

I had forgotten this extraordinary story ; and therefore, on meet- 
ing Mr. Clay at Mr. Const's, desired him to repeat it. No doubt vil- 
lanous designs of the same kind as that which was so happily frus- 
trated on this occasion, have too often been successful ; but as this 
fact was so well ascertained, it was proper to introduce it, as it may 
operate as a warning to those who have property to leave lo be 
cautious in the choice of their executors. 

I may here properly introduce another singular event which 
divines may reasonably assign to an interposition of Providence. I 
derived it from a lady who knew the gentleman, and on whose 
veracity I can rely. A gentleman, now dead, who was connected 
with Kensington Palace, had dined in Piccadilly, near to Hyde Park, 
and on going home late at night, thought that he might safely pro- 
ceed through Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens. When he ap- 
proached the bridge in Hyde Park, two m.en, who were leaning over 
each side of the bridge, left their station, joined each other on the 
middle of the road, and approached towards him. It was at the 



4iO RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

time when, within my r^nieffibrance, it was the fashion with gentle- 
rnen to wear swords in the street. He drew his sword, and desired 
that they would open a passage for him. They, however, continued 
to advance, and as he did not know how they might be armed, he 
thought proper to retreat, and being acquainted with a gentleman 
who lived at Knightsbridge, he directed his course thither, and 
climbed to the top of his friend's wall, intending to apprize the 
family. When he attempted to descend into the yard, a ferocious 
dog barked so violently that he kept his post some time, and then 
returned into the park, intending to pursue his way, thinking that 
the men had left the place ; but they remained on the spot, and ad- 
vanced towards him as before. He retired, crossed the park, and 
entered the gardens at the norlh-east door. As soon as he passed 
the pond, he heard a splash as if somebody had thrown himself 
into the water. For a moment he suspected that this might be a 
trick of some confederate of the men, but a sudden glimpse of the 
moon displayed a woman struggling with the vater. He hastened 
immediately to the place, plunged into the water, brought her safely 
to the bank, and inquired the cause of her desperate design. She 
told him she was pregnant by a gentleman who suspected that he 
was not the cause, and had abandoned the connexion ; but her un- 
fortunate condition was obvious, and that her father had discarded 
her ; therefore, hopeless of recovering her seducer and her parent, 
she had resolved to get rid of her misery by suicide. On further in- 
quiry, the gentleman found that he was acquainted with her seducer 
and her parent. To the former he disclosed this desperate proof 
of the probable truth of her charge, and, as her character was other- 
wise amiable, he married her. She was reconciled to her family, 
and conducted herself as a wife and mother with fidelity and affection. 



CHAPTER LVH. 

The Rev. William Jackson. It may be thought strange that, 
considering the unfortunate end of this gentleman, I should intro- 
duce him in the present work ; but as he was one of my earliest 
friends, and as I derived much advantage from his conversation and 
counsel, during the intercourse of many years, I cannot but remem- 
ber him with pleasure as well as regret. I became acquainted with 
him at the house of Mrs. Mills, formerly a public singer at Vauxhall, 
and afterward a musical actress at Drury-lane theatre, during the 
management of Mr, Garrick. Her maiden name was Burchill, 
under" which name she originally sang at Vauxhall Gardens, and, I 
believe, was apprenticed to old Mr. Tyers, the first proprietor of 
that place of amusement. She was in the capacity of a milk-girl in 



REV. WM. jACKSoN-^MS, Mills. 411 

the neighbourhood of Mr. Tyers's country seS^, and used to sing 
while she carried on her pastoral employment. Mr. Tyers was 
struck with the sweetness, power, and extent of her voice, and in- 
quiring into her condition, obtained the consent of her parents to 
bind her to his service. She, therefore, for some years lived with 
his family, and received musical instruction at his expense. She was 
not disposed to study, and therefore made very little progress in 
musical science, depending wholly on her ear and her memory. 

During her apprenticeship she married the younger Vincent, a 
performer on the oboe, an instrument on Vv^hich his father obtained 
celebrity, and one of the band in the Tauxhall orchestra. When 
her articles expired, she was engaged at Drury-lane theatre ; and 
Churchill, one of the least lenient of poetical critics, speaks of her 
in his " Rosciad" in the following terms : 

" Lo ! Vincent comes — with simple grace array'd ; 
She laughs at paltry arts, and scorns parade. 
Nature, through her, is by reflection shown, 
While Gay once more knows Polly for his own. 
Talk not to me of diffidence and fear, 
I see it all, but must forgive it here ; 
Defects like these which modest terrors cause, 
From impudence itself extort applause ; / 

Candour and Reason still take Virtue's part ; 
We lore e'en foibles with so good a heart." 

Here Churchill was probably induced to give so favourable a re- 
port of her abilities by his personal knowledge of her amiable dispo- 
sition ; for I was on intimate terms with her in my early days, and 
can vouch for the justness of the poet's testimony in favour of her 
disposition, though he was certainly too partial to her talents. With 
httle education, she had an excellent understanding, and with the 
advantage of good culture, would have been an excellent epistolary 
writer. 

On the death of Mr. Vincent, a few years after she quitted the 
stage, and was married to Mr. Mills, a gentleman who was captain 
of one of the ships that coast to different British settlements in India, 
and subsequently occupied a public station at Calcutta. This gen- 
tleman was the last survivor of those who were unfortunately con- 
fined in what was styled the Black Hole at Calcutta. He is men- 
tioned by Mr. Orme in his account of our Military Operations in 
India with great honour, for his kindness to Governor Holwell on 
that melancholy occasion. 

Mr. Mills related the mournful event to me himself. He told me 
that he stood near to the window in that dreadful situation, and that 
Gov^ernor Holwell stood immediately behind him. The governor, 
nearly exhausted by pressure and the want of air, in a languid tone 
said, that unless he could get nearer to the window, he should soon 
be dead. Mr. Mills told me that he felt himself so strong, that, re- 
flecting on the importance of the governor's life compared with his 



412 RECORDS OF Mr LIFE. 

own, he with great difficulty made way for the governor, and took 
the place which he had left. The consequence was that the gov- 
ernor revived, but Mr. Mills was soon exhausted, and on the open- 
ing of the door, was removed as apparently dead, among those who 
fell victims on the spot. 

Governor Holwell, in his account, as far as I remember, does not 
render the same justice to Mr. Mills as the latter received from the 
statement of Mr. Orme. 

I was so attached to Mrs. Mills's daughter, that if our means would 
have justified us, we should have been married. The mother tol- 
erated our courtship under a persuasion, too common, that prosper- 
ous events might possibly occur. I had, however, a lucky escape^ 
as she proved a very frail character. She married the son of Mr. 
Ferguson, who formerly gave lectures on astronomy, and other 
branches of science, in this metropolis. The son was a surgeon in 
the service of the Hon. East India Company. His grave disposition 
illsuited with the volatile character of his wife, and she soon parted 
with him, placing herself under another protector, whom she quitted 
in turn, according to Rowe's description : 

" One lover to another still succeeds, 
Another and another after that, 
And the last fool was welcome as the former." 

However, as her personal charms were much upon the wane, during 
her residence with her last protector, an old foreigner, she ended her 
life with him. He was rich, and as he was anxious to qualify her 
as a public singer, he employed many musical instructors at a con- 
siderable expense, but to no purpose, as her voice, though powerful, 
was not well-toned, and she did not possess a correct ear. My old 
friend, the late Dr. Arnold, told me that having been professionally 
consulted, he honestly advised the old gentleman to desist from the 
attempt, as her voice was acid, her ear incorrect, and she did not 
possess requisite talents. The old gentleman, however, was too 
dotingly fond to listen to the doctor's disinterested and friendly coun- 
sel, and other professors were employed, but without success ; and 
at last she relinquished the vain attempt. 

My friendship for the mother, and my recollection of my early 
attachment to herself, induced me to take an interest in her success.. 
I went to hear her smg at the Pantheon, when the concerts at that 
place were under the direction of my old friend. Dr. Burney. I was 
not able to be in time for the first act of the concert, and therefore 
asked the doctor how Mrs. Ferguson came off ? " What, did you 
not hear her in the first act ?" said the doctor. On my answering 
in the negative, "Well," said he, with the caution that usually 
accompanies a long knowledge of the world, " she sings in the 
second act, and then you can judge for yourself." I found, on 
hearing her, that Dr. Arnold's opinion, as I might of course have ex- 



REV. WILLIAM JACKSON. 41S 

pected, was well founded, and was confirmed, by implication, by 
the wary reserve of Dr. Burney. 

Mrs. Mills retained her friendship for me during her life. I ought 
to have before mentioned, that, observing the levity of her daughter, 
in pure friendship she advised me to break off the connexion. I 
attended the funeral of Mrs. Mills by desire of her husband, who 
survived her many years ; and at his request also, wrote the epitaph 
which is inscribed on her tombstone in the church-yard of St. 
Pancras. But I have v/andered too long from the account of my 
unfortunate friend Mr. Jackson. 

He was a native of Ireland, and was entered at the University of 
Oxford, where he resided many years, and was afterward ordained 
and acted as curate at St. Mary-le- Strand, but never obtained a 
benefice. I never heard him preach, but have been told that his 
matter was solid, and his manner dignified and solemn. When I 
first knew him he was married to a widow. She v/as older than her 
husband, of a romantic turn, and much inclined to read novels. 
She was very fond of music, and performed sufficiently to amuse 
herself on the piano-forte. 

When I first became acquainted with Mr, Jackson, he was editor 
of a daily paper, entitled the " Public Ledger," which, amid the 
novelties and fluctuations of the diurnal press, is the only one that 
still maintains its ground, its only competitors at that period being 
the " Public Advertiser," "The Gazetteer," and the " Daily Adver- 
tiser," all of which have sunk into oblivion. The " Public Ledger," 
at the time that Mr. Jackson conducted it, had an action brought 
against it by the celebrated Samuel Foote, for a libel on his char- 
acter on a charge too well known to need mentioning in this place« 
Mr. Foote, whose morals were of the loosest description, and whose 
extravagant mode of living obliged him to raise supplies as well as 
he could, addressed a letter to the celebrated Duchess of Kingston^ 
intimating to the lady that he had written a drama, in which she was 
the heroine, but that it was in her power to prevent its introduction 
on the stage. The duchess, indignant at this application, the meaning- 
of which was obvious, sent an angry and contemptuous answer, prob-^ 
ably thinking that if she were to bribe him in one instance, she might 
be subject to future applications. Foote replied : the duchess 
rejoined with much asperity, sarcasm, and not without indecent 
allusions. 

The correspondence was published, and appeared in all the public 
journals of the times, and is introduced by my old friend Mr. Gooke 
in his Life of Foote. Foote evidently conceived that the letters 
which bore the signature of the duchess were really the production 
of Jackson, and therefore, when he brought upon the stage his- 
comedy called " A Trip to Calais," he introduced Jackson under 
the name of Dr. Viper, as chaplain to Lady Kitty Crocodile, meaning 
the duchess. 

Here I may mention a cordial junction between those who were 



414 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

once adverse to each other, a circumstance indeed not uncommon 
in the fluctuation of human affairs, John Pahner, the actor, repre- 
sented Jackson as Dr. Viper, imitating his manner, and copying the 
pecuharities of his dress with black frogs on his coat ; yet a few 
years afterward Palmer and Jackson became intimate friends, and 
co-operated in the erection of the Royalty theatre, in the neighbour- 
hood of that in Goodman's Fields, where Garrick first appeared on a 
London stage. 

Jackson's first wife was the widow of a gentleman of Cornwall, 
who died before he came of age, otherwise he would have been 
possessed of 2000/. a-year, and of course have better provided for a 
•widow. She was a woman of an excellent understanding, with 
great humour, though, as I have said, somewhat romantic. She 
died of a cancer in her breast, which she bore with great fortitude, 
and received all possible kindness and sympathy from her husband, 
who stood near her couch for hours, fanning her during the warmth 
of the season and the violence of her disorder. 

I attended her funeral, which fully attested, by its expense, the 
respect of her husband, though whatever income she possessed 
expired with her. Jackson was a very gallant man, and much 
favoured by the ladies, but so negligent, that he suffered the letters 
from his fair correspondents to remain in his coat pocket, to which 
his wife had easy access. On one or two occasions, when the ladies 
had appointed Clement's Inn as the place for meeting with Jackson, 
his wife used to attend at the time and place, but Jackson was so 
prudent that he was never seen, and therefore, though his wife was 
very jealous, she had no proof of his infidelity. 

" The Public Ledger," as I have said, was under a prosecution 
from Foote at the time when I became acquainted with Jackson, 
who then was the editor. The ground of the action was a series of 
letters on the charge against Foote, written with great bitterness by 
Jackson — no doubt by the instigation of the Duchess of Kingston, to 
whom Jackson appeared to be in the light of chaplain, though, from 
the lady's character and conduct, however she might need religious 
consultation, she was not at all likely to require it. During the legal 
progress of the action, Foote luckily died, and put an end to the 
fears of the proprietor of " The Ledger." 

Among the friends and visiters of Mr. Jackson v>'ere old General 
Oglethorpe, who is immortalized in the lines of Pope, Home Tooke, 
Francis Hargrave the eminent lawyer, Dr. Schomberg the younger, 
M.D. (not he of Bath, who lost the good opinion of the people of 
that city), and other men of known talents, whom I do not at present 
recollect. Mr. Jackson was a stanch friend to popular freedom 
long before the French revolution spread its horrors over Europe. 
Besides the natural love of liberty which characterizes mankind, he 
caught the flame of freedom from the American revolution. 

Soon after the acknowledgment of the independence of our 
American colonies, he published a work entitled " The Constitutions 



RET. WILLIAM JACKSON. 415 

of America," with a preface and notes, all laudatory of the political 
principles on which their independence was founded. He continued 
his defence of those principles in " The Ledger" and " The White- 
hall Evening Post," and often paid me the compliment of reading to 
nje his lucubrations in the latter paper before he sent them to General 
Oglethorpe, Home, and other friends. 

In " The Public Ledger," he introduced a series of letters under 
the signature of " Curtius," which appeared, to my humble judg- 
ment, pov.'erfully written. He seemed to insinuate that they were 
the production of "Junius ;'' but he unconsciously betrayed the 
secret that they were his own, for he asked me if I knew any legal 
friend who would examine one of these letters, and tell me whether 
it could be safely published. I told him that I was intimate with Dr. 
Monsey, who often dined with his old friend Lord Walsingham, 
formerly Lord Chief-justice De Grey, and that I would request the 
doctor to submit it to his lordship. When he put the MS. into my 
hand I saw that it was in his own handwriting, and that there were 
many erasures and interlineations. Hence I concluded that it must 
be his own composition ; because I inferred that no other author, 
and particularly Junius, would permit him to take such liberties, and 
that, indeed, he would not have presumed to do so v/ith the latter. 
The letter itself was throughout written with great vigour, but with 
a dangerous freedom, as is evident from the following passage, which 
I took pains to recollect, because it struck me as surprising that the 
writer could have a doubt whether it could be safely published. The 
letter was addressed to a great personage, now no more : — " The 

people no longer consider your 's appetite for blood as the 

military madness of a boy-monarch who wantons in new-obtained 
authority, but as the established affection of the full-blown man, 
serenely savage and deliberately destructive." I took the letter to 
Dr. Monsey, who carried it to Lord Walsingham. His lordship 
being then free from all the cares of public employment, kindly 
perused the letter, and Dr. Monsey told me that this was his lordship's 
answer : " It is ably written, but it is not Junius ; and let the author 
be told, that if he is a candidate for fine, imprisonment, and the 
pillory, nobody can dispute his pretensions." The letter, in conse- 
quence of this opinion, was never published, and the letters of " Cur- 
tius," I believe, were no longer continued. 

Mr. Jackson was afterward editor of " The Morning Post," 
during the memorable Westminster scrutiny on the disputed election 
of Charles Fox. He was adverse to "The Champion of the People,'* 
as Mr. Fox's party then styled him. Mr. Jackson allotted a part of 
"The Morning Post" to an article which he called " The Scrutineer." 
In this article he varied his attacks upon the Fox party with great 
force and humour, it sometimes appearing as a proclamation, some- 
times as a dialogue, sometimes as a hue-and-cry, and under many 
other forms, which displayed the fertility of his powers, particularly 
as the literary hostility continued as long as the scrutiny. The party 



■#16 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

■was galled, but had not wit, humour, and argument enough to answer 
him. " The Rolliad'' alluded to these attacks, in mentioning — 

" The lofty nothings of ' The Scrutineer.' " 

but had nothing to say in plain prose. 

I remember that the late Mr, Perry, of " The Morning Chronicle," 
expressed his surprise to me at the vigour and variety of Jackson's 
powers, as they appeared in " The Scrutineer," though he was a 
determined Foxite, and therefore likely to speak of it with indiffer- 
ence, if not with affected contempt, as he generally did of every thing 
that did not appear in his own journal. 

I will mention but one anecdote of Mr. Perry, whom I knew 
upwards of thirty years. On the day after the Earl of Liverpool 
had stated the grounds of his charges against the late Queen Caroline, 
I met Mr. Perry in Piccadilly. We stopped, and spoke together in 
the presence ©f a mutual acquaintance, whom I do not now recollect. 
"Well," said I, "Perry, if these charges against the queen are well- 
founded, the next thing that v/e shall hear of is, that she has poisoned 
herself or left the country." His answer, in his Scotch accent, was, 
*' Ah ! Jock, Jock, how little you know of that woman ! She would 
pull down the throne of this country, if she were sure to be buried in 
the ruins." Yet the very next day, and during many following days^ 
" The Morning Chronicle" was filled with praises of her merit, sym- 
pathy with her sufferings, and predictions of her triumph. 

Mr. Jackson wrote in a very large hand when he wrote for the 
public press, and procured paper of proportionate magnitude for the 
purpose. 

After the memorable scrutiny already alluded to, Mr. Jackson 
went abroad, and I lost sight of him for many years. One morning, 
as I was passing through a narrow new street in Marylebone, I saw 
a gentleman on the other side of the way who strongly resembled 
Jackson, but with a cocked-hat and his hair in a queue. I thought 
I must be mistaken. I remained still, and the gentleman looking at 
me gravely, crossed the v/ay, took me by the arm, and led me 
towards the fields. I then found it Was Jackson. He asked if I 
would give hiui a beefsteak next day, and then he would tell me the 
reason why he returned to this country. I readily assented, and he 
came. I took care that nobody should intrude upon the party, and 
my mother and sister, who were well known to him, dined with us. 
As I was somewhat indisposed, I took a little brandy and water i 
and, with the exception of about four glasses of v.-ine drunk by my 
mother and sister, Jackson actually despatched four bottles without 
being in the least affected, except with enlivened spirits. 

He told me that he returned to England for the purpose of 
establishing a kind of " Magazin du Mode,'' consisting, not only of 
the fashions of France, but of its current literature, to be published 
in French and Endisb : and he asked me to introduce him to those 



REV. WILLIAM JACKSON. 411 

who were likely to assist and promote the circulation of the work: 
The day passed with great pleasantry. Jackson was a great laugher, 
and spoke with contemptuous merriment of every thing in this 
country. 

" I suppose," said he, " Pitt, Fox, and Burke are thought great 
men in this country ?" 

" Certainly," said I. 

" Oh ! poor, degenerate Britain !" said he, with a hearty laugh. 
*' I suppose, too," he continued, " that the little man" (meaning the 
elder Boswell), " whom I see trotting about Paris, is reckoned a 
great writer here ?" 

I answered that he had written a valuable biography of Dr. 
Johnson. 

He laughed heartily again, exclaiming, " That little, trotting man ! 
— Oh, my God ! And your friend Peter Pindar, with his tinkling 
rhymes, which he calls poetry — I suppose he is considered here as a 
great poet ?" 

I answered that I thought he was, though he might give a better 
direction to his muse. 

Then, with another laugh, he said, " I fear I must pity your taste, 
as well as that of the country." 

My sister lived at that time in Queen- Anne-street West, and Jack- 
son and myself attended her home ; and highly were we gratified all 
the way with his unabated spirit and humour. After that night I never 
saw him, and the next melancholy intelligence which I heard of him 
was, that he was in custody in Dublin, and was to be tried for high 
treason. 

Before the trial took place, Mrs. Jackson (his second wife) came 
from Ireland, and called upon me at my house in Hatton Garden. 
She told me that she came by the desire of her husband, who consid- 
ered me as a friend not likely to forsake him in adversity, to ask me if I 
thought government would consent to exchange him for Sir Sydney 
Smith, who was then confined in the prison of the Temple in Paris, as 
Mr. Jackson had interest with the French government at that time, 
and could probably procure the consent of the latter. I apologized to 
her for giving an unwelcome answer ; but said it was my opinion that 
Sir Sydney Smith, considering himself as a prisoner of war, would 
most probably refuse to assent to such an exchange, as Mr. Jackson 
did not stand in a similar predicament. Being a woman of sense, she 
was not offended at my openness, but seemed to be convinced by 
what I said, intimating that, in desperate cases, any appearance of a 
remedy was eagerly adopted. 

I saw her no more, except by accident in the street. She was a 
very fine and intelligent woman. She had two children by Mr. Jack- 
son, the eldest a son, who is a merchant at Florence, with whom the 
mother resides. The son I have been in company with, and found 
an intelligent and amiable young man, who, not harbouring French 
principles, was obliged to quit a mercantile house in Leghorn when 
the revolutionary troops obtained possession of that place. 



418 RECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

Mr. Jackson possessed learning and abilities which would have 
done honour to the Protestant church. In my opinion, he was a 
zealot for hberty and the independence of his country, Ireland, — like 
many others, who had more to sacrifice in the cause than he ever 
possessed, — and not a rebellious incendiary hostile to the British 
throne. Such he appeared to many distinguished characters in Dub- 
lin, by the long line of carriages which attended his funeral ; and such 
he appears to me, or I should not have paid this humble tribute to the 
memory of an early and instructive friend. Mr. Jackson wrote an 
answer to Dr. Johnson's pamphlet, entitled " Taxation no Tyranny," 
eloquently opposing the doctor's arguments upon the principles of 
American independence. He was a great admirer of the works of 
Dr. Young, and went to Welwyn on purpose to see that celebrated 
writer, whose " Night Thoughts" he repeated with energetic effect, 
and his Satires with easy spirit, 

Mr. Jackson had an odd species of ironical humour, both in his 
writing and conversation. Of the former kind, I at present only 
recollect one instance. In an ironical letter to Lord North, when 
prime minister, which appeared in " The Ledger," he said, " My 
!ord, the people have such a sense of the blessings of your adminis- 
tration that they long to be near you to testify the gratitude which they 
feel ; but I would not advise you to come among them, lest in the 
eagerness of their emotions they should tear you to pieces in a trans- 
port of joy." 

Before he was inflamed by the doctrines of America, and ensnared 
by those of revolutionary France, he was a zealous friend to the Brit- 
ish constitution, and used to characterize Wilkes as " a hackneyed 
old knave, a demagogue, and a blasphemer, whose patriotism was a 
pretext, and whose politics were a trade." I trust that I cannot be 
condemned for introducing in these trifling records an account of an 
unfortunate gentleman, to whom, in early life, 1 was indebted for 
many hours of solid pleasure and instruction, resulting from his learn- 
ing, knowledge of the world, kindness, and friendship. 



CHAPTER LVIIL 

George Chalmers, Esq. With this gentleman I had many 
years the pleasure of being acquainted, and hold his memory in much 
respect. He was chiefly conversant with mercantile and political 
subjects, but also with works of general literature. He was one of 
the most indefatigable writers that perhaps ever existed, and subjects 
that were irksome and difficult to the world at large, might be said to 
be to him " familiar as his garters." The bullion question, for in- 
stance, which was not only puzzling, unintelligible, and rspulsive to 



GEORGE CHALMERS, ESQ. 419 

others, was a subject which he satisfactorily explained, and rendered 
as easy to general comprehension as general comprehension would 
admit. Even my late friend William Gifford, who was as sagacious 
a man as I ever knew, told me that he wished to understand the bul- 
lion question, but honestly declared, that the more he read and stud- 
ied the subject, the Jess he understood it, his mind taking a retrograde 
direction. 

Mr. Chalmers had been some years in America, but when I knew 
him he had a good appointment at the Board of Trade. As a proof 
of bis love for, and knowledge of literary subjects, when young Ire- 
land brought forward his pretended unpublished and unknown works 
of Shakspeare, he, like Dr. Parr and the elder Boswell, was deceived 
at first by the imposition. Boswell was so completely duped, that he 
dropped on his knees, and thanked God that he had lived to see so 
many indubitable relics of the divine bard. But Mr. Chalmers, upon 
further search, considered them as fabrications ; yet in vindication of 
himself and others who had been deluded by the imposition, he pub- 
lished an apology for the behevers in the supposed Shakspeare manu- 
scripts, books, &c. in which he displayed great research, knowledge, 
and acumen. He was not a little severe on my friend Mr. Malone, 
who wrote against the imposition, without having looked at the pre- 
tended relics, and who had ridiculed those who had been betrayed 
into credulity. 

Mr. Chalmers wrote many pamphlets on political subjects, chiefly 
in defence of government and Mr. Pitt's administration ; and in all he 
wrote on those subjects, I am fully persuaded that he acted from the 
most perfect conviction, and was entirely exempt from any interested 
bias of gratitude or expectation. His " Caledonia" was his great 
work ; three large volumes in quarto have been published, and I 
believe he had far advanced in the fourth, which would have con- 
cluded his labours on that subject. The work, though not finished, 
must be highly gratifying to the natives of Scotland, and to every ad- 
mirer of antiquity, as the author had collected and recorded every 
thing which could illustrate the history, and contribute to the glory 
of that ancient kingdom. 

The various works of Mr. Chalmers are innumerable, and I be- 
lieve, his most intimate connexions would not be able to trace even a 
small part of them. But with all his sagacity, judgment, and perse- 
verance, I cannot help thinking he was on some subjects too credu- 
lous and hasty in his conclusions. He conceived that Mr. Hugh 
Boyd, a young Irishman, was the author of" Junius's Letters," though 
not only Boyd's age and condition in life were " strong against the 
deed," but his avowed works were so diflerent from the style of Ju- 
nius as to preclude the supposition, though he studied and copied the 
manner of the great anonymous original. In his comments, however, 
on the language of Junius, Mr. Chalmers discovered many gramma- 
tical errors in those celebrated letters, and gave many strong reasons 
for behaving that the author was an Irishman. 



420 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

The arguments and citations in a work published by Mr. Taylor, 
the boolrseller, are so strong in favour of Sir Philip Francis as the 
author, that an eminent law authority is said to have declared, they 
ought to be admitted in a court of justice ; and I heard Mr. Godwin 
once say, that he should have been convinced by that work, only that 
he knew Sir Philip Francis had not sufficient ability for such compo- 
sitions as those celebrated letters. 

Among the many reputed authors of that great anonymous work, 
Burke seems still to hold the ascendency, and to be the mark of 
general suspicion. But independently of other reasons, there is, as I 
have before observed, such an essential character in the expansive 
and flowery style of Burke in his avowed publications, admitting all 
his literary merit and political knowledge, as seems to render it impos- 
sible for him to have supported one so unlike his ov/n, to such an ex- 
tent as to maintain it through the whole progress of the " Letters of 
Junius." As to Burke's voluntary denial to Dr. Johnson, that he was 
the author of " Junius," I should place no dependence on that decla- 
ration, relying on what I have heard of Burke's character, from those 
who were likely to understand it much better than the multitude. 

Another proof of my friend Chalmers's hasty convictions was, his 
confident belief that Mr, Mathias was the author of " The Pursuits 
of Literature," insomuch that he actually put an advertisement in the 
newspapers, positively charging him with being the author, though 
there was only a rumour that he had been known to have had some 
band in it as it passed through the press. 

Mr. Chalmers told me that he intended to write a life of Thom- 
son ; but he did net live to fulfil his design — a subject of regret, as 
his inquiring and indefatigable mind would doubtless have produced 
an interesting biography of one of our greatest poets. Having men- 
tioned to Dr. Wolcot that I had dined with Mr. Chalmers, and also 
the articles which he possessed that had belonged to Thomson, the 
doctor, who, like Thomson, saw every thing with a poetical eye, 
asked me if I had not written something on this subject, and hence 
I was induced to write the following trifle. 

TO GEORGE CHALMERS, ESQ. 

Tlie possessor of a table and wine-glasses which belonged to Thomson the poet. 
Friend Chalmers, 'tis a noble treat 
At Thomson's hallow 'd board to meet — 

The bard of Nature's sphere — 
The bard whom, long as ages roll, 
And Nature animates the whole, 
. Taste, Virtue, will revere. 

'Tis surely form'd of Britain's oak, 
That bears her thunder's dreadful stroke 

O'er all her subject main. 

For, lo ! Britannia's* sacred laws, 

And Liberty's^ congenial cause, 
Inspired his patriot strain. 

* Poems by Thomson. 



ALEXANDER CHALMERS, ESQ. 42|: 

Not Arthur's, with his knights araund. 
By fond tradition long renown'd. 

Should equal thine in fame ; 
Nor that where plates the Trojans ate. 
Portentous of a happier fate, 

Though graced with Virgil's name. 

The Poet's goblets, too, are thine, — 
With votive bumpers let them shine, 

In Thomson's praise to ring, 
Whose works through Summer's parching glow, 
Sear'd Autumn, Winter's blighting snow. 

Will bloom in endless Spring. 

The nephew and namesake of this gentleman paid me the melan*- 
choly compliment of inviting me to the funeral of his uncle, which £ 
accepted, willing to show my respect for the memory of d man who, 
with all his zeal for literature and good government, was chiefly 
anxious to discover truth, and to promote the happiness of mankind. 

The name of Chalmers naturally draws my attention to another 
friend, whom I have had the pleasure of knowing for upwards of 
forty years, and who is still able to contribute to the benefit of the; 
public by his writings, and by his intrinsic merits to the gratification 
of his numerous friends. 

Alexander Chalmers, Esq. This gentleman, by his talents, 
learning, and social character, has attracted a numerous train of 
friends, and they are such as are connected with him not merely by 
convivial intercourse, but by congenial powers and attainments, f 
have heard that he came from Aberdeen, intending to practise, after 
receiving due qualifications in that city, the profession of a surgeon 
in London ; but finding, as the saying is, that " the market was over- 
stocked," he turned his attention to literary pursuits, and soon 
became well known as a man of talent and learning. He quickly 
obtained employment among those essential patrons of literature, the 
booksellers, and innumerable publications issued from his pen. 

He has been long known as the editor of " The Biographical Dic- 
tionary," in which many of the articles were written by himself. 
He is also the editor of a collection of the works of the English 
poets, of most of whom lives are prefixed written by him, but he has 
modestly introduced all the lives written by Dr. Johnson, though it 
may truly be said that his own are not less characterized by judg- 
ment, certainly more distinguished by industrious research, and per- 
haps by purer taste and more candid criticism. 

The only original v/ork of imagination that Ii know to have been 
written by Mr. Alexander Chalmers is a periodical paper, in three 
volumes, entitled " The Projector," which first appeared successively 
in numbers, in that venerable and valuable repository of literature, 
" The Gentleman's Magazine," which Mr. Chalmers afterward col- 
lected and published, but to which, with hardly an excusable diffi- 
dence, he has declined to prefix his name. This is a work of great 
humour, and of the purest moral tendency. It abounds with satiri- 

T 



422 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

cal irony, perhaps to an excess, demonstrating an extraordinary 
talent for that quality, and always rendering it subservient to a moral 
purpose. 

Mr. Chalmers has published a History of the University of Oxford, 
in which every thing that taste and judgment could discover has 
been faithfully illustrated and recorded. During the whole of my 
long friendship with this gentleman, though occasional sparring 
matches have passed between us, not the slightest tendency to ill- 
humour ever appeared on either part ; and if there had, it was more 
likely to have arisen on my side, on account of his powers of con- 
versation, supported by various knowledge, and such an abundant 
store of anecdotes as few possess, and which none can relate with 
more point and effect. 

I look back with pleasure on the time when we were both young 
and active, and used to take long walks together, dine at some tavern 
on our road, adjourn for an hour or two to one of the theatres, and 
finally end the night at the Turk's Head Coffee-house in the Strand, 
where we were sure to meet with facetious and intelligent friends ; 
among whom were Mr. George Gordon, a Scotch agent, a gentle- 
man of great wit and humour, and with literary talents of no ordi- 
nary rate ; the learned and rather too convivial Porson ; the late ftln 
Perry, proprietor of "The Morning Chronicle;" sometimes the 
elder Boswell ; and " though last, not least" in social humour, the 
facetious Hewardine, who possessed talents which, properly directed, 
•would have rendered him a useful and valuable member of society, 
but who fell in the prime of life, a sacrifice to the uncontrollable 
indulgence of convivial excesses. 



CHAPTER LIX. 

John King, Esq. In my early days I knew this celebrated char- 
acter, so well known as the chief agent in his time for money-lend- 
ers, and who, being of the Jewish persuasion, was generally styled 
Jew King. I was acquainted with him for upwards of forty years. 
I have heard many reflections on his character, but can truly say 
that I never observed any thing in his conduct, or ever heard him 
utter a sentiment, that could be injurious to his reputation. He was 
hospitable and attentive. He was fond of having men of talent at his 
table, and seemed capable of comprehending and of enjoying what- 
ever fell from them. I introduced Dr. Wolcot to him, and he 
seemed thoroughly to understand his character and to relish his 
humour. 

The Honourable Mrs. G rattan, sister of Lord Falkland, was one 
of his visiters, with her brothers, Lord Falkland, and also the Hon- 



■ JOHN KING, ESQ. 43S 

Durable Charles Carey, afterward Lord Falkland. Musical ama- 
teurs were among the parties, who rendered the house an agree- 
able and elegant receptacle. Cards were seldom introduced, and I 
never observed that, when they were, there were high stakes or high 
betting. From all I could observe of Mr. King, I had never the 
least reason to believe that any of his invitations were for pecuniary 
)3urposes. He was extensively concerned in money transactions by 
all accounts, and chiefly with young Irish noblemen, not much 
renowned for rectitude, — and if he raised money for them, and they 
violated their obligations, the odium was thrown upon him ; yet, as 
he carried on this business for the greater part of his life, and stili 
found employment, it may be supposed that the lenders, at least, con- 
tinued to place confidence in him. 

Lady Lanesborough, who appeared as his wife, it is said could not 
be really so, because he had married early in life, according to the 
Jewish rites, and the first wife was then alive. It cannot be doubted, 
however, that he was united to her according to the forms of the 
Church of England, and I never heard he was disturbed by the 
claims of the first wife. Lady Lanesborough was a very sensible 
woman, and very elegant in her manners. She appeared to me 
exactly to conform to the idea of what is styled a woman of quality. 
It has been doubted, as I have said, whether she was really married 
to Mr. King ; but, unless the marriage had taken place, it is not to be 
supposed that he would have been permitted to control her property 
by her family, particularly by my old friend Mr. Danvers Butler, her 
son, a very spirited and intelligent man, who lived in King's house, 
and appeared to be upon the most friendly terms with him. 

I became acquainted with Lord Falkland at Mr. King's. He was 
rather of a grave disposition, but sensible of humour. I was rather 
more intimate with his brother Charles, a naval ofhcer, who suc- 
ceeded to the title. The last time I saw him, he told me that he had 
acquired about 30,000Z, prize-money, and as we had often talked of 
taking a beefsteak together, he said that within a fortnight he would 
fix the day ; but, about a week after, I heard the melancholy ac- 
count of his death in a duel with Mr. Powell, whom he had called 
*' Pogy," and who resented it in him, though it was a nick-name by 
•which he was generally designated among his friends. This last 
Lord Falkland was a handsome, fine-looking man, good-humoured, 
and esteemed a very gallant officer. 

Mr. Holcroft and Mr. Godwin were frequent visiters at Mr. 
King's, and other men of talent, whom I do not now remember. 
Holcroft was inclined to bring forward his philosophical opinions, 
and was irritable if contradicted ; but Godwin was more guarded, 
and seldom spoke. King sometimes mixed in the conversation with 
both, and generally made shrewd answers to them. 

Mr. King was an able writer on political subjects, and instituted a 
public journal, the name of which I have forgotten, and v/hich had 
but a short duration. Lady Lanesborough survived him, and I heard 

T3 



REaORDS OF MY LIFE. 

from one of the family that she fainted on hearing of his death. In 
the early part of his life he was a great admirer of pugilism, and was 
esteemed a good boxer. When I first knew Mr. King, he used 
after dinner to introduce Humphrey, his foot-boy, and spar with 
Mm, Humphrey derived the rudiments of his art from his master. 
King was always his friend when he became a pugilist by profession. 

Lady Lanesborough had a daughter as well as a son by her first 
iiusband, who had been many years married before I had the pleasure 
9of being introduced to her. She was styled the Marchioness of 
Mariscotti ; and among all my acquaintance with the female sex she 
was one of the most amiable and interesting women I ever knew. 
There was an ingenuous simplicity in her manners that seemed 
almost to approach to the innocence of childhood, only that her 
good sense, knowledge, and accomplishments v/ere thoroughly 
accordant with her time of life and her rank. 

My old friend Mr. Brooke, whose knowledge of life could rarely 
be equalled, used to characterize this lady by the epithet of "guile- 
less," and never, 1 believe, was an epithet more appropriate. Mr. 
Butleri her brother, took the addition of Danvers to his name, having 
married an heiress of considerable fortune of that name. 1 was 
introduced to her, but my acquaintance with her was very short, as 
she died soon after. She appeared to be an amiable domestic 
character. She left one son, with whom I have the pleasure of 
being acquainted, but I shall say no more than that I respect him 
for his manners and character. 

Mr. King, during my long acquaintance with him, experienced the 
^vicissitudes of fortune. I have sometimes seen him riding in his 
carriage with Lady Lanesborough and his family, and other times 
trudging through the streets arm-in-arm with her in very indifferent 
weather. He was a remarkably good-humoured man, and I never 
lieard a splenetic word from him, I have understood that when any 
<5f his literary friends have not been successful in their publications, 
he has purchased many copies of their works, to distribute gratui- 
tously among his connexions. 

I know that Mr.King*s character was the subject of severe animad- 
versions, but as all I observed of him was creditable to him, I will not 
he deterred from paying this tribute to his memory, as I have enjoyed 
juany pleasant hours at his table, but had no other obligation to him 
than what I derived from the accomplished and intelligent society 
which 1 met at his hospitable mansion. 

i must not forget to mention the second wife of Mr. Butler Dan- 
-yers, previously Miss Sturt, and the sister of my friend Captain 
Siurt, R.N. She was beautiful in her person, engaging in her 
fnanners, and, though accustomed to all the splendour and gayeties 
-©f fashionable life, was unaffected, cheerful, and possessed every 
domestic virtue calculated 

Well-ordered home man's chief delight to make. 



THE HON. MRS. GRATTAN. 4f5 

The Honourable Mrs. Grattan, sister of Lord Falkland, wlions 
I have mentioned as one of the visiters to Lady Lanesborougb an«l 
Mr. King, was very handsome, and an intelligent woman ; but, dif» 
ferent from handsome women in general, she seemed to be regardless 
of the influence of her person, and rather desirous to strike by hew 
understanding and accomplishments. She was very fond of music, 
and by great labour was able to perform two or three concertos om 
the piano-forte, but did not seem to possess any genius for music, ©r 
much taste. She was strongly impregnated with the pride of birtb^. 
but was by no means deficient in common sense. She thought that 
she possessed dramatic talents, and sent me a play of her writing';, 
desiring my judgment. I honestly gave my opinion, which was 
by no means favourable, and she paid me the compliment of sup- 
pressing it. 

I am chiefly induced to mention this lady in order to show, that 
with all the consciousness of her rank, and all the pride of her 
attainments, finding her income not sufficient to support herself iis 
this country, she had the good sense to stoop from her elevation and 
leave England, and go to America, or one of our West India islands^, 
where she opened a milliner's shop and died in obscurity, but not 
without obtaining respect for character and conduct. She was on®- 
of the first persons who patronized the talents of the late Mr. Davyj, 
the musical composer, from whom she received lessons, as well as 
from Mr. Jackson, generally styled Jackson of Exeter, who ha^ 
originally been a portrait-painter, but renounced that profession ins 
favour of music, in which his genius and taste were justly admire^a, 
particularly in the compositions which he adapted to works of 
Hammond, Lord Lyttelton, and Dr. Wolcot. His latest compositions 
were chiefly confined to the lyric works of Dr. Wolcot, with whom 
he had long been in habits of friendship and confidence. 

1 became acquainted with him at the house of the late Mr. Ople^, 
the celebrated painter. Mr. Jackson possessed an excellent under- 
standing, and literary talents of no ordinary description. If he ha^ 
devoted himself wholly to literary pursuits, he would probably hav© 
rendered himself conspicuous by his profound knowledge of the 
world. His work entitled "Thirty Letters on various Subjects," is 
highly creditable to his talents and knowledge of human nature. He 
presented it to me, as well as several of his musical pieces set to the 
words of Dr. Wolcot. He was a tall, good-looking man, with ais 
expressive face, and a reserved and grave demeanour. He appeared 
to me to be wefl acquainted with history, and v/ith the opinions of 
the ancient philosophers. His talents as a painter, I understand;, 
were by no means first-rate, but, according to the report of Mr. 
Ople and Dr. Wolcot, he was an admirable judge of painting. 

It is said that he was austere in his domestic character, and some- 
thing of that disposition v/as observable in his general intercourse witb 
society. Indeed, his burying himself at Exeter, when he might have 
been conspicuous in the metropolis, may be considered as a, proof 



426 KECORDS OF MT LIFE. 

that he was of a retired, if not of a saturnine cast of mind. He was 
one of the very few men whom Doctor Wolcot, a shrewd judge of 
mankind, regarded with particular respect for his intellectual powers; 
and another was Dr. Whitaker, the historian of Manchester, and 
who engaged in the controversy respecting the character of Mary 
Queen of Scots. The latter told Wolcot that he envied him the 
power of making people laugh by his writings, which he said he had 
often attempted to do in his own, but had never succeeded. 

Whitaker was also a man who confined himself to the country, 
though eminently qualified by his powers and acquirements for a 
more distinguished sphere of action. The wisest men are not ex- 
empted from pride, and though he held the situation of organist in 
Exeter, Jackson was offended if he heard himself mentioned as " Mr. 
Jackson, the organist." He was unaffected in his manners, but took 
no pains to please in company, and seemed indifferent as to what 
impression he v/as likely to make, as if his opinions were settled, 
and he was not disposed to enter into any controversy in support of 
them. 

Mr. Davy, a native also of Exeter, was a man of great musical 
talents, which he discovered very early, and in a singular manner, 
as has been stated in several accounts. His music to the opera of 
*' The Blind Boy" is a striking proof of his science and taste. I 
became acquainted with him soon after he came from Exeter, and 
was settled in London. He was a good performer on the piano-forte, 
and an able teacher. When I first knew him, he was somewhat of 
a beau, and his hair was always well powdered ; but he fell into an 
unfortunate habit of drinking, and became at last so negligent of his 
person as to be really offensive. Of course he lost his scholars, 
particularly females, and was at length reduced to very great distress, 
and was chiefly supported by the casual contributions of those ac- 
quaintances whom he happened to meet, or whose residence he 
could discover. 

Musical professors in general are very kind to any of their 
community who are in distress, and I have been informed that 
several of them subscribed to provide a decent interment for poor 
Davy, otherwise he v/ould probably have been buried at the expense 
of the parish. 



CHAPTER LX. 

Loud Byron. I became acquainted with this nobleman in the 
green-room of Drury-lane theatre, at a time when he was one of the 
committee of management, and, as well as I can recollect, I was 
introduced to him by Mr. Douglas Kinnaird, who was also a member 



LORD BYRON. 427 

«f the same body. He had so little the appearance of a person above 
the common race of mankind that, as lawyers were concerned in 
the affairs of that theatre, I took him for one of that profession, or a 
clerk ; nor when I first saw his features, before I was introduced to 
him, did I perceive any of that extraordinary beauty which has since 
been ascribed to him ; but soon after, knowing who he was, and 
gratified by the politeness of his manner, I began to see " Othello's 
visage in his mind," and, if I did not perceive the reported beauty, I 
dhought I saw striking marks of intelligence, and of those high powers 
which constituted his character. 

I had but little intercourse with him in the green-room ; and as a 
proof how slight an impression his features made upon me, I was 
sitting in one of the boxes at the Haymarket theatre, the partition of 
the boxes only dividing me from a person in the next box, who spoke 
to me, and as I did not know who he was, he told me he was Lord 
Byron. I was much pleased with his condescension in addressing 
me, though vexed that I did not recollect him ; and I then paid 
more attention to him than to the performance on the stage. We 
conversed for some time in a lov/ tone, that we might not annoy the 
people around us, and I was highly gratified in leaving all the talk to 
his lordship, consistent with the necessity of an occasional answer. 
I then took care to examine his features well, that, being near-sighted 
in some degree, I might not forget him. 

I still think that the beauty of his features has been much ex- 
aggerated, and that the knowledge of his intellectual powers, as 
snanifested in his works, has given an impression to the mind of the 
•observer which would not have been made upon those who saw hirai 
without knowing him. The portraits by my friends Mr. Westall and 
Mr. Phillips are the best likenesses that I have seen of him ; and the 
prints from other artists hare very little resemblance, though some 
of them have been confidently bruited to the world. 

i was in the habit of visiting the green-rooms of both theatres, but 
-went oftener to Drury-lane, in order to cultivate an acquaintanceship 
with Lord Byron, who always received me with great kindness ; and 
particularly one night when I had returned from a public dinner 
and met him in the green-room, though I had by no means drunk 
much wine, yet, as I seemed to him to be somewhat heated and 
appeared to be thirsty, he handed me a tumbler of water, as he said 
to dilute me. Having a short time before published a small volume 
of poems, I sent them to his lordship, and in return received the 
following letter from him, with four volumes of his poems, handsomely 
bound, all of his works that had been published at that time. I took 
Ihe first sentence of the letter as a motto for a collection of poems 
which I have since published. 

" DEAR SIR, 

" I have to thank you for a volume in the good old style of our 
elders and our betters, which I am very glad to see not yet extinct. 



428 RECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

Your good opinion does me great honour, though I am about to risk 
its loss by the return I make for your valuable present. With many 
acknowledgments for your wishes, and a sincere sense of your kind- 
ness, believe me, 

" Your obliged and faithful servant, 

'• Byron. 

" 13 Piccadilly Terrace, July 23, 1815." 

In addition to this kind and flattering letter, his lordship inscribed 
the first volume in the following terms : 

" To John Taylor, Esq. 
"With the author's compliments and respects, 

"July 23d, 1815." 

His lordship's volumes, his gratifying letter, and the kind attention 
which I received from him in the green-room induced me to express 
my thanks in a complimentary sonnet to him, which was inserted m 
*' The Sun'-" newspaper, of which I was then the proprietor of nine- 
tenths. The remaining tenth share was to belong to a gentleman^ 
"when the profits of that share should amount to a sum which was the 
assigned price of each share, and at which price I purchased, by de- 
grees, all my shares. By the oversight of the attorney employed, the 
gentleman alluded to, during the previous proprietorship, was invested 
with the sole and uncontrolled editorship of the paper, under such 
legal forms that even the proprietors could not deprive him of his 
authority. When the former two prop«'ietors, of whom one was the 
founder of the paper, found into what a predicament they had been 
thrown, they signified their wishes to withdraw from the concern, and 
I purchased their respective shares, in addition to what I had bought 
before at a considerable expense, conceiving that the editor would 
relax from his authority, and that we should proceed in harmony to- 
gether. But I was mistaken, and after much and violent dissension 
between us, I was at last induced to offer him 50QL to relinquish all 
connexion with the paper, which sum he accepted, and it then became 
entirely my own. 

During his control over the paper, the day after my sonnet ad- 
dressed to Lord Byron appeared, the editor thought proper to insert 
a parody on my lines in " The Sun" newspaper, in which he men- 
tioned Lord Byron in severe terms, and in one passage adverted to 
Lady Byron. Shocked and mortified at the insertion of this parody in 
a paper almost entirely my own, I wrote immediately to Lord Byron, 
explaining my situation, and expressing my sincere regret that such 
an article had appeared in the paper, and stating ray inability to pre- 
vent it. My letter produced the following one from his lordship, 
•which I lent to my friend Mr. Moore, and which he has inserted m 
his admirable life of the noble bard. 



tORD BYRON. 4^ 

"DEAR SIR, 

*« I am sorry that you should feel uneasy at what has by no meaffis 
troubled me. If your editor, his correspondents, and readers ar© 
amused, I have no objection to be the theme of all the ballads he cass 
find room for, provided his lucubrations are confined to me only. It 
is a long time since things of t'nis kind have ceased to ' fright me from 
my propriety,' nor do I know any similar attack which would induce 
me to turn again, unless it involved those connected with me, whose 
qualities, I hope, are such as to exempt them, even in the eyes of 
those who bear no good will to myself. In such a case, supposing it 
to occur, to reverse the saying of Dr. Johnson, ' What the law can- 
not do for me, I would do for myself,' be the consequences what thej 
jnight. I return you, with many thanks, Colman and the letters. 
The poems I hope you intend me to keep, at least I shall do so till 
I hear the contrary. 

" Very truly yours, 

" Bi'ROK, 

[ " 13 Terrace, Piccadilly, Sept. 25th, 1815." 

In a subsequent letter from his lordship to me, referring to tlie 
same subject, there is the following postscript. " F.S. Your best waj 
will be to publish no more eulogies, except upon the 'elect;' or if 
you do, to let him (the editor) have a previous copy, so that the com- 
pliment and attack may appear together, which would, I think, ba?© 
a good effect." 

The last letter is dated Oct. 27th, 1815, more than a month after 
the other, so that it is evident the subject dwelt upon his lordship's- 
mind, though in the postscript he has treated it jocularly. The let- 
ter dated Sept. 25th is interesting, because it shov/s, that though Ms 
lordship was indifferent to any attacks on himself, he was disposed to 
come resolutely, if not rashly, forward in defence of Lady Byron, of 
whose amiable qualities he could not but be deeply sensible, and it is 
therefore a lamentable consideration, that a separation should have- 
taken place between persons so eminently qualified to promote the 
happiness of each other. 

Before her marriage, Lady Byron was the theme of universal esteem 
and admiration to all who had the pleasure of being acquainted vAth 
her, and there can be no doubt that in her matrimonial state she fullj 
maintained her pretensions to the same favourable estimation, though 
untoward circumstances, unfortunately too common in conjugal lif©;, 
may have occasioned the melancholy event of a separation. 

I remember that soon after the marriage I dined with Mrs. Siddoss^ 
and I know no person who was better able to appreciate characterg. 
and to pay due homage to personal worth, than that lady. Referring: 
to the recent marriage, she said, " If I had no other reason to admire 
the judgment and taste of Lord Byron, I should be fully convinced 
of both by his choice of a v/ife." 

It is impossible to review the character and talents of Lord Byre® 

T3 



430 RECORPS OF MY LIFE. 

without entertaining a high respect for his memory. That he pos- 
sessed strong passions is too evident ; but they were accompanied by 
a generous and forgiving disposition, as my friend Mr. Moore's valu- 
able life of him demonstrates. His poetical powers, though certainly 
of a high order, have perhaps, like the beauty of his person, been rep- 
resented in too favourable a light. They were chiefly of a satirical 
and descriptive kind. He could draw characters with great force and 
beauty, as well those of masculine and ferocious energy as of female 
softness, delicacy, and exquisite feeling ; but perhaps if we were to 
search in his works for that species of poetical excellence which is 
denominated the sublime, and which is the essence of true poetry, we 
should be disappointed. 

I feel somewhat abashed at thus venturing to criticise the works of 
so popular a writer ; but much as I respect his memory, and feel sen- 
sible of his kindness to me, I may be permitted to express my opin- 
ion, considering the high reputation which he acquired, and the great 
poets who do honour to ths literary character of the country, and 
whose names seem to have sunk into comparative oblivion. 

As Lord Byron made so conspicuous a figure in society, and will 
always remain so in the literary world, it may not he an incurious 
speculation to reflect on what he might have been if he had not been 
born to rank and affluence. That he possessed great poetical talents, 
nobody can deny ; and it must be equally admitted that he was born 
with strong passions. It is hardly to be doubted, that whatever had 
been the condition of his parents, they would have discovered un- 
commion qualities of mind in him, and would have afforded him as 
good an education as their means would have allowed. Born in hum- 
ble life, he would not have been exposed to the flattery of sycophants, 
which always surround the inheritor of title and wealth, and his 
talents would have taken the direction which nature might have sug- 
gested, and his passions have been restrained from extravagance and 
voluptuousness. He would have been free from the provocation of 
captious criticism, and therefore would probably have employed his 
muse in description, sentiment, and reflection, rather than in satire 
and licentiousness. 

That Lord Byron was generous and affectionate, is evident from 
Mr. Moore's masterly biographical work ; and this temper, influ- 
enced by his situation among persons in ordinary life, would probably 
have operated with benevolence and philanthropy. His faults may 
therefore be conceived to have been the consequence of the rank in 
which he was born, and the allurements, as well as provocations, to 
which he was exposed. It has been said that the deformity of his foot 
contributed to sour his temper; but if he had been obliged to support 
himself by his talents, his chagrin on that account might have passed 
from him "like dew-drops from the lion's mane." In my opinion 
Lord Byron was naturally a kind, good-hearted, and liberal-minded 
man ; and, as far as he was otherwise, it was the unavoidable result of 
the rank to which he was born, and its incidental temptations. 



THE EAJIL OF ELDON. 431 



CHAPTER LXL 

The Earl op Eldon. The first time that I had the honour of 
being introduced to this venerable nobleman was when he was Mr. 
Scott, an eminent barrister, and so easy and unaffected in his manners 
that he was generally designated with the name of Jack Scott by his 
brethren of the bar. His early friend, Mr. Richard Wilson, for some 
reason generally styled Dick Wilson, gave a dinner, and by desire of 
Mr. Alderman Skinner, Mr. Scott, and Mr. Joseph Richardson were 
particularly invited, and I was one of the party, with other friends. 
The object of Mr. Skinner was, if possible, to engage Mr. Scott and 
Mr. Richardson to take opposite sides in any subject that might happen 
to occur, though it was hardly possible, considering the rate of Mr. 
Skinner's intellects, and the extent of his attainments, that he was 
likely to derive much advantage from the controversy, if it happened 
to fall within the reach of his capacity. 

Mr. Richardson had been let into the secret, and therefore, before 
the company assembled, Mr. Richardson took me aside, complimented 
me on my prolific power of talking nonsense, and requested that I 
would endeavour, by the introduction of any flippant facetiousness, to 
prevent the expected disputation, observing that Mr. Scott was a 
practised logician, and likely to be the conqueror if a difference of 
opinion should arise ; but it was probable that they might concur in 
sentiment, and that at all events, as the meeting was for the purpose 
of general good-humour, it would be absurd to introduce topics in the 
discussion of which the company in general were not likely to engage. 
I endeavoured to justify my friend Richardson's compliment on my 
genius for nonsense, succeeded in spreading harmless merriment, and 
thereby obviated all prospect of controversial emulation. But this 
state of things interfered so much with the worthy alderman's design, 
that he took me aside, told me that as I was a young man just entering 
into the world, and as he had risen to a distinguished station in society, 
it might be in his power to render me service ; he then unfolded the 
object of the meeting, which he requested I would endeavour to for- 
ward, rather than retard, and assured me that, by the contention be- 
tween two such able men as Mr. Scott and Mr. Richardson, I should 
improve by their respective arguments. I affected to assent, but, not 
being ambitious of the patronage of the civic sage, I soon resumed 
the same flippant gayety, and being a bit of a singer in those days, 
gave the company a Bacchanalian air, which, on account of its jovial 
sentiments, not my musical merit, was encored, and such a spirit of 
convivial merriment ensued, that the worthy magistrate gave up all 
hopes of argumental improvement in despair, and retired. The rest 
of the company followed him by degrees, and at length nobody was left 
but Mr. Scott, myself, and our hospitable landlord. 



432 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

I remember that, inspired by Bacchus, rather than by the Cumaeare 
sybil, as Mr. Scott sat on a sofa, I felt a prophetic glow, and said, 
** There sits an embryo chancellor." Mr. Scott laughed at my jovial 
prediction, and required a repetition of my song ; and, as Mr. Wilson 
tells me, for I confess I recollect no more, Mr. Scott arose from the 
sofa, and placing himself at the door, declared that I should not de- 
part till I had repeated the song. From that time the noble lord has 
favoured me with his kind attention, and when I have had the pleas- 
ure of meeting him, has sometimes referred to our merry meeting, 
and my prophetic inspiration. 

Often has he favoured me with his arm when we happened to be 
walking the same way ; and I must indulge myself in the pride of 
stating that in the tea-room, where the company assembled after the 
last celebration, in 1829, of Mr. Pitt's birth-day, he greeted me with 
his usual kindness, and said in the hearing of the company, that he 
should be glad to see me whenever I would call upon him. His 
noble brother, Lord Stowell, whom I had first the pleasure of meet- 
ing at the elegant table of Sir Joshua Reynolds, has honoured me 
ever since with the same condescending affability; and it is with 
pride and gratitude I add that they were both liberal subscribers to 
the volumes of poems which I published by the advice and under 
the patronage of a numerous host of subscribers, many of whom 
■were of high rank, His Royal Highness the Duke of Sussex at the 
head, and the whole list constituting such an honourable testimony 
in favour of my character, as might, in a great degree, compensate 
for the frowns of fortune. 

The Earl of Coventry. I have had the pleasure of ranking 
this nobleman among my early friends, and many happy days have 
I passed at his hospitabletable, in company with his amiable count- 
ess, their accomplished daughters, and the lively and inteUigent male 
branches of the family. My first acquaintance with his lordship was 
within a few years after he was deprived of sight. ' He consulted 
my father, the most eminent oculist of his day, but the case unfor- 
tunately admitted not of a remedy, and his lordship has uniformly 
borne this lamentable deprivation with philosophic fortitude ank 
resignation. 

Lord Coventry was educated at Westminster school, and when 
Dr. Smith, then head-master, was asked who had been the most 
promising of his scholars in his time, he said that he could have no 
doubt or hesitation in saying the Earl of Coventry, then Lord Deer- 
hurst. The chief amusement of the noble lord, since his unfortunate 
loss of sight, has been the composition of Latin verses, and in trans- 
lating English poetry into the Latin language. 

Mr. Samuel Foote. This celebrated character, who was con- 
spicuous as an author as well as an actor, figured on the stage of life 
before I became at all connected with the theatrical world, except 
as a mere spectator. I have, hov.ever, often seen him act, and have 
a full recollection of his manner. He performed the characters 
written by and for liiniself in his own dramas with admirable humour 



SAMUEL rOOTE. 433 

and effect, and far beyond any of his successors, though some of 
them, particularly the elder Bannister, imitated his manner with great 
success. His voice was harsh and unequal, and if now imitated in 
private life, it would be difficult to believe that it ever could have 
been endured on the stage ; but the public had been used to it, and 
his intrepid confidence and spirit were powerfully effective. 

I have seen him perform Fondlewife in " The Old Bachelor," and 
Gomez in " The Spanish Friar ;" but his manner was by no means 
suited to the regular drama, though his good sense and broad 
humour rendered him very entertaining. He was vain, and always 
wished to be more forward on the stage than any of bis fellow-per- 
formers ; and as he was the manager, they of course submitted to 
appear rather in the background. H he had not possessed so much 
dramatic ability, and the stage had been his only resource, he must 
have been contented with a very subordinate situation on the public 
boards, if, indeed, he had been tolerated at all. 

I have been surprised that my old friend Arthur Murphy should 
have entertained so high an opinion of Foote as a wit, since there 
are very few proofs of such original jocularity as might be expected^ 
considering he had acquired so high a reputation for bons mots and 
repartees. I have often wished there had been some record of that 
facetious fecundity which rendered Foote's conversational powers so 
entertaining to people of all ranks, for those sallies of his inexhaustible 
humour which have reached public notice, by no means afford such 
samples of original wit as to give adequate support to his high repu- 
tation ; and I conceive that his dramatic works may be considered as 
the chief foundation of his intellectual character. For my part, such 
has been my ill-luck, that I have been generally disappointed when I 
have come into the company of professed wits. 

Mr. Murphy never used to mention him without styling him the 
great, the famous, or the celebrated Mr. Foote ; and we also find 
these epithets apphed to him by Mr. Murphy in his Life of Garrick^ 
Mr. Murphy had often signified his intention to write a life of Foote, 
and during my long intimacy with him I have heard him repeat all 
the hons mots and odd remarks of this " Mr. ^ferryman." Well re- 
membering these good things, as they were deemed, I communicated 
them to my friend Mr. Cooke, the barrister, who had collected many 
more, and who has since given them to the public in his Life of 
Foote. I have recently looked over them, in order to see if I could 
recover any of them for my own use, but did not think them worth 
the transfer. 

It was Foote's constant aim to make the servants leave the room 
laughing, wherever he visited ; and it may easily be conceived that 
the jokes must be of a very coarse nature that were inspired by such 
a grovelling ambition. Soon after he became settled, he sent for his 
wife, from whom he had been separated many years, and desired 
Mr. Costello, an actor who valued himself upon his skill as a driver, 
to bring her in a one-horse chaise, a common vehicle at that time, to 
his house at Blackheath. Costello, with all his skill, overturned the 



434 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

chaise, and poor Mrs. Foote fell with her face upon some hard grave), 
which disfigured her so much that she was obliged to put on a 
veil. 

When the company who were expected to dinner arrived, Foote 
told them of her disaster, and sacrificing humanity and even decency 
for a joke, pulled aside her veil, and said he would show them " a 
map of the world." He then said, pointing to the several bruises on 
her face, " There is the yellow Ganges, here is the Red Sea ;" and, 
after more allusions of the same kind, concluded with touching her 
forehead, and adding, " Here are the rocks of Scilly." 

A day or two after the death of his wife, he dined with a party, 
and affected to weep for his loss ; but his weeping was intended 
to have a ludicrous effect upon the servants, and to complete the 
joke he said that he had been all the morning seeking for " a 
second-hand coffin to bury her in." This declaration was irresistible 
upon the servants, and having thus accomplished his purpose, he was 
as facetious as ever through the remainder of the day. 

These may be considered as samples of his general pretensions to 
the character of a wit. Yet he must have had some power of di- 
verting, since even Dr. Johnson, in spite of his predetermination to 
maintain a sullen silence, was obliged to give way to Foote's over- 
bearing "broad-faced" merriment. 

Dr. Johnson having heard that Foote had called him " a learned 
Hottentot," the doctor in return styled him " a pleasant villain." 

That Foote was a good scholar was universally admitted, and a 
good dramatic writer must also be acknowledged ; but his works 
were chiefly attractive from their impudent personality, and his 
whimsical exhibition of characters drawn by himself, and for his own 
peculiar talents. 

I was surprised also that there should have been so great an 
intimacy between Murphy and Foote, considering the difference of 
their characters. Murphy was very grave, and never attempted 
wit, but was successful in relating the wit of others. Foote was 
never grave, but always on the watch for something to excite a jest ; 
and as he had no regard for friendship, morality, or decency, Murphy 
must have been his butt as well as all his other friends. 

I believe that Mr. Murphy relinquished the intention to write 
Foote's life, on account of the charge that was brought against him, 
for I have heard him say that he believed Foote was guilty. He 
added, that it would be a difficult task to get over ; " but," said he, 
" if I should ever write his life, I should be contented with saying, 
that he was acquitted by a jury of his countrymen." The life, how- 
ever, has been ably written by Mr, Cooke, who has brought forward 
every thing that could tend to do honour to his hero, but has still 
supported his own character as an impartial biographer. 

Foote's manner of relating a humorous story, with his powers of 
mimicry, must doubtless have been very entertaining to those who 
were not too refined for fun, or too delicate for buffoonery. Mr. 
Murphy used to relate the following story of Foote's, the heroines of 



SAMUEL FOOTE — WILLIAM COOKE, ESQ. 435 

which were the Ladies Cheere, Fielding, and Hill, the last the widow 
of the celebrated Dr. Hill. He represented them as playing at " I 
love my love with a letter." Lady Cheere began and said, " I love 
my love with an N, because he is a Night ;" Lady Fielding followed 
with " I love my love with a G, because he is a Gustis ; and " I love 
my love with an F," said Lady Hill, " because he is a Fizishun." 
Such was the imputed orthography of these learned ladies. 

Foote never was able to bear the charge that was brought against 
him, which certainly hastened his end ; for though he affected to keep 
up his spirits, on his return to the stage Mr. Cooke says that he 
exhibited a lamentable decay, both in mind and person. Peace 
to his manes ! 



CHAPTER LXn. 

William Cooke, Esq. This gentleman, whom I have mentioned 
in the previous article, was one of my early friends. He came from 
Cork, after having been engaged in a mercantile concern contrary to 
his inclination, and arrived in London in the year 1766. He was 
married when very young to a lady rather older than himself, who 
possessed gpod property, but, as they mixed in all the gayeties of 
fashionable life, it was soon dissipated. The lady lived about two 
years after the marriage ; and his purpose in visiting London, soon 
after her death, was to adopt the profession of the law. He entered 
himself of the Middle Temple, and in due time was called to the 
bar ; but finding little encouragement to pursue the profession which 
he had chosen, wholly devoted himself to the labours of the pen. 
He had brought from Ireland letters of recommendation to Dr. 
Goldsmith, to Edmund Burke, and his brother Richard. With Dr. 
Goldsmith he retained an intimacy till the death of that excellent 
writer ; but notwithstanding his high admiration of Edmund Burke's 
powers, he had no confidence in his integrity, or that of his brother 
Richard, and having been nearly involved in a heavy debt by the 
latter, he did not cultivate a connexion with either. 

Mr. Cooke's first publication was a poem entitled " The Art of 
Living in London," which contained a good description of the man- 
ners of the time, and some useful precepts for avoiding its dangers. 
His friend Goldsmith supplied the title of this poem and revised the 
whole. It was very successful, and soon went through a second 
edition. He then published a work, entitled " Elements of Dramatic 
Criticism," and wrote many political pamphlets, under the patronage 
of the Duke of Richmond and Lord Shelburn, afterward Marquis of 
Lansdowne. 

Mr. Cooke was well acquainted with the chief wits of the time ; 



REEIORDS OF MY LIFE. 

and when Dr. Johnson formed his Essex-street club, he nominated 

Mr. Cooke as the first member. 

Mr. Cooke was employed in reporting the debates in the House 
of Lords, and in the India House, for the public journals. He was 
also a theatrical reporter, and became a proprietor in a daily news- 
paper, but soon sold his share from a conviction of the uncertainty 
of that kind of property. He was married to his second wife before 
I became acquainted with him. She was a handsome and very 
amiable lady. By her he had fifteen children, but most of them died 
young ; the last a daughter, who reached her fifteenth year, and then 
•sunk into the grave with the rest. 

Mr. Cooke was a warm friend of Mrs. Abington. He altered for 
her the comedy of " The Capricious Lady," originally written by 
Beaumont and Fletcher, and she increased her reputation by appear- 
ing as the heroine of the piece. By his connexion with the public 
press, he was able to give support to her professional exertions, 
Mrs. Abington was much alive to public notice, and peculiarly fear- 
ful of critical censure. 

Mr. Cooke's last work was a didactic poem, entitled "Conversation," 
in which he enumerates the merits and defects of colloquial inter- 
course, with critical acumen, and knowledge of mankind. This poem 
he dedicated to his old friend John Symmons, Esq. of Paddington, 
whose character he introduced under the name of Florio. I had for 
many years the pleasure of being intimate with Mr. Symmons ; and 
a more liberal, elegant, and hospitable character never existed. He 
is still alive, at a very advanced age, and with a reverse of fortune^ 
which all who knew him must deeply z'egret ; as it was chiefly the 
result of the generosity, I may say, the magnificence of his mind, 
his confidence in false friends, and an incautious disposal of his prop- 
erty. He found it necessary to leave England, and I fear is in- 
volved in the unhappy events which now overwhelm the Netherlands^ 
to which country he has retired, and where he intended to pass the 
remainder of his life. 

The Rev. Charles Symmons, D.D. This gentleman was the 
brother of the respected friend whom I have just mentioned. His 
learning and poetical talents are so well known, that it would be pre- 
sumptuous in me to pay homage to merits generally acknow^ledgedy 
and which I cannot pretend to appreciate. I was introduced to him 
at the hospitable table of his brother, and have been very often a 
happy guest at his own. He was a friend to mankind, but perhaps, 
considering his sacred calling, too free in the manifestation of his 
political principles. These principles are evident in his "Life of 
Milton," and in his other works. They were also avowed in ser- 
mons which he delivered from the pulpit. It is not to be supposed 
that he wished for a republic, for he was firmly attached to the 
British constitution, and proud of the friendship of His Royal High- 
ness the Duke of Sussex, who may justly be ranked among the 
friends of mankind, as well as an admirer of that unrivalled consti- 
tution which seated his family on the throne of this country. 



REV. DR. SYMMONS. 437 

The late Mr. Windham was a friend of Dr. Symmons, and was 
anxious to advance him in the church ; but the doctor's open avowal 
of his political principles prevented Mr. Windham from being as 
active in his cause as he expected, and in consequence a languor fell 
upon their friendship. The doctor's pretensions to preferment were 
of the most solid kind, in point of learning and moral conduct ; and 
he might have been raised to high ecclesiastical dignities if he had 
not been so solicitous to appear as a patriot and a politician. He 
published a volume of poems, written by himself and one of his 
daughters, who died in the bloom of life, and which are highly 
creditable to the taste and genius of both. 

His translation of the " Mne'id," a work of great learning and 
poetical merit, was first published in a quarto volume, but soon 
reached to a second edition, which appeared in two volumes octavo. 
He paid me the unmerited compliment of sending to me the proofs 
of every book, as they came from the press, of which I did not pre- 
sume to judge as a translation, but merely ventured occasionally to 
suggest some alterations in the English version. When the second 
edition was published, I introduced a succession of observations on 
the whole in " The Sun" newspaper, of which I was then the pro- 
prietor. These observations were so satisfactory to the doctor as to 
excite such a tribute of gratitude as I am at once proud and ashamed 
to record. Yet I might well be suspected of false modesty if I were 
to suppress such a testimony in my favour from so distinguished a 
scholar and so excellent a poet. I shall therefore venture to insert 
the conclusion of the preface to the second edition of his translation 
of the •' iEneid," regretting that I do not deserve such commenda- 
tion, yet highly gratified at having received so honourable and flatter- 
ing a tribute of partial friendship. 

After having referred to the charge brought against him by certain 
critics, who had spoken unfavourably of his work, of having Latinized 
too much, he concludes in the following words : — " But I must with- 
draw even from the shadow of controversy the remaining portion of 
my small sheet (the preface), that I may consecrate it to the better 
feelings of my heart. Let me now, then, say that there is a public 
writer, of extended celebrity throughout the political and the literary 
world, to whom my thankfulness is largely due, and to whom I am 
happy in this opportunity of avowing the magnitude of my obligation. 
Acquainted with me, originally, by my publications, and conciliated 
by his partial estimation of their merits, the proprietor of " The Sun" 
paper has uniformly encouraged me with his plaudit ; and in the cir- 
culation of his popular pages my name has been agitated into life. 
Unfeed and unsolicited, without the hope of any other recompense 
than that which he derived from his own approbation ; and, let me 
add, with a high disdain of that party spirit which in these bad days 
has arrayed man against man, and torn brother from brother, he has 
devoted, not his paragraphs, but his columns, to the display of my 
poor muse ; and has hazarded the established reputation of his own 



438 RECORDS OP MY LIFE. 

literary judgment, while he has been placing wreaths upon her un- 
respected brow. For all this kindness, 



Grates persolvere dignas 



Non opis est nostrse.' 

" If in the train of the Mantuan Bard I could hope to visit pos- 
terity, it would be gratifying to think that, by eyes yet withheld by 
interposing centuries from the light, this small record of my gratitude 
would be read, and the name of John Taylou be seen thus closely 
associated with that of 

" Charles Symmons. 
'. " March 2Q, 1820." 

There are several living friends whom I would introduce with 
pleasure in this work, but as justice and gratitude might be imputed 
to very different motives, I fear to mention them ; I cannot, however, 
deny myself the gratification of acknowledging the kindness of John 
Soane, Esq., the celebrated architect, and of Prince Hoare, Esq. ; 
who kindly came forward to cheer me in the time of unexpected 
adversity, and manifested such condoling sympathy and such zealous 
friendship, as I must always gratefully remember, though I can never 
hope to return. 

The present work has been written in a desultory manner, with 
several intervals occasioned by illness, which, at one time, was of so 
alarming a description that my friend Mr. Cooke, and another emi- 
nent surgeon, thought it hardly possible that I should recover. I 
might easily have extended it, but was tired of the task, and was 
urged to conclude it by my friends, who cherished such hopes of its 
success as I fear will be disappointed. I am now at a very advanced 
age, and though I have no reason to believe that my mind has de- 
cayed as well as my corporeal strength, yet I cannot help agreeing 
with the opinion of David Hume, who says, " I consider that a man 
at sixty-five, by dying, cuts off" only a few years of infirmities ;" and. 
if it had been my fate to leave the world at that period of my life, I 
should not only have escaped infirmities, but disappointments, vex- 
ations, and sorrows. 

To borrow the words of Dr. Johnson, in the last paper of his ad- 
mirable Rambler, "that the same sentiments have not sometimes 
recurred, or the same expressions been too frequently repeated, I 
have not confidence in my abilities sufficient to warrant." And 
indeed, such must inevitably be the case ; for I am not to coin words, 
and if I am describing tempers, qualities, talents, and persons of a 
similar nature, I must of course make use of similar epithets and 
forms of expression. 



DR. ARNOLD. 439 



CHAPTER LXIII. 

Dr. Arnold. The name of Colman leads me to our old friend, 
who was so long an ornament of the musical world, and, by the 
general estimation of his professional merits, was a man of great 
genius, as well as profound in musical science. In private life he 
was humorous, intelligent, and convivial. Our acquaintance began 
.so early in my life that I cannot recollect its origin. His numerous 
musical works sufficiently attest his genius and his knowledge. The 
tirst production, I believe, which brought his talents into notice was 
a song, which began " If 'tis joy to wound a lover." These words 
were adapted to so lively an air that it was on everybody's tongue, 
and was printed on ladies' fans and many other articles hkely to 
extend its popularity. 

Dr. Arnold was well acquainted with the world, and always took 
an active, spirited, and agreeable part in conversation. I was once 
happy enough to be instrumental in removing a slight but temporary 
difference between him and his friend Colman. This transient 
pause in their friendship was occasioned by the introduction of Mr. 
Storace into the Haymarket theatre as the composer of " The Iron 
Chest," Dr. Arnold having for many years been the settled composer 
for that house. The doctor consulted me on the subject, and con- 
cl^scended to adopt my advice, when cordiality was soon restored 
between the two friends. 

Dr. Arnold introduced me to Sir John Oldmixon, grandson of the 
famous Mr. Oldmixon, the bitter adversary of Pope, and victim of 
the relentless poet. Sir John and I became very intimate, and he 
introduced me to his mother at Cheshunt. Miss Oldmixon had 
married a Mr. Morella, a musician, who died and left one son, who 
was in due time an officer in the army. As the Oldmixons were an 
ancient family who gave their name to a town, young Morella ob- 
tained permission to change his to that of his grandfather, and was 
knighted (I believe) by the Duke of Portland, when viceroy in 
Ireland. 

Sir John was a lively companion, and inherited his father's love of 
music, performing tolerably well on the violin. His mother was tall 
and stately, and had doubtless been a fine woman. Her manners 
were very courteous, but had something of the formality of Queen 
Anne's court. 

Pope became the subject of conversation, and I was surprised to 
find her speak with so much liberality of a man who had been so 
bitter an enemy of her father. I stopped but one night with them 
at Cheshunt, and never saw her afterward. I heard no tradition 
respecting either Pope or her father. 



440 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

Sir John had figured among the beau monde at Bath, where his 
figure was introduced in a print called " The Long Dance ;" and 
also at Brighton, where he was first noticed by his late majesty when 
Prince of Wales, and distinguished among some amateur actors of 
the higher orders. He afterward married Miss George, an actress 
and singer of the Haymarket theatre. They subsequently went to 
America, where she displayed her theatrical talents ; and he who 
had been so great a beau in this country turned market-gardener in 
America, and used to drive his own cart, with vegetables, to the 
market, dropping his knighthood. I understood that, in consequence 
of his wife's conduct, he obtained a divorce. He returned to this 
country, and eagerly renewed his intercourse with me ; but after 
two or three meetings at a tavern, and one in the street, I saw hiai 
no more, and never heard what had become of him. 

To return to my friend Dr. Arnold : 1 lost in him an agreeable 
old friend, who, however, had introduced bis son to me when just 
passed his " boyish days," and whose talents are too well known to 
require more fi-ora me than to say that I consider him as a legacy of 
friendship, which I shall always value on his own account, as well 
as for the respect which I bear to the memory of his father. 

William Gifford, Esq. Considering my long friendship with 
this gentleman, which subsisted for upwards of forty years, it would 
be strange, indeed, if I did not give him a place in the account of my 
recollections. He has given so interesting and affecting a history of 
his life, that nothing can be added to that narrative of his early difS- 
culties, and the manner in which they were surmounted. 

I was first introduced to him by the Rev. William Peters, R.A. 
and chaplain to the Royal Academy. Unfortunately a difference 
arose between these old friends, which was followed by mutual and 
unappeasable hostility. Mr. Peters, as I have before stated, accused 
Gifford of having supplanted him in the favour of the late Lord 
Grosvenor, and as Gifford soon after formed an intimacy with Mr, 
Hoppner the artist, the cause of enmity was increased by rivalry in 
the arts. It may be said of Gifford, as of the Earl of Dorset, that he 
was 

The best good man with the worst-natured muse ; ^^ 

and also, as Pope says of himself, that his life was a " a long disease,'' 
for he had a feeble frame, and it was not well formed. 

He was induced to write the affecting narrative of his life in con- 
sequence of some poetical attacks upon him by Dr. Wolcot, owing 
to a mistake, as I have stated in another place. He was a very pow- 
erful writer, and I have seen some remarks of his, which indeed 
passed through my hands when 1 was connected with " The Sun" 
newspaper, in which they were inserted, and which were charac- 
terized by what may be styled tremendous energy. These remarks 
were sent to me while he was at Ramsgate, and related to a politi- 



WILLIAM GIFPORD, ESQ. 441 

cal pamphlet written by Mr. Roscoe. Mr. GifFord had no mercy 
on those who differed with him in political opinions. He was a 
stanch supporter of Mr. Pitt's administration, and was a firm and 
intimate friend of Mr. Canning. 

I have often thought that, though he might not have equalled 
Junius in keen sarcasm, he would have been more than a match for 
him in force of language and cogency of reasoning. He was too 
apt in his critical comments, like Warburton, to treat others with 
virulence and contempt, but was a profound judge of literary merit. 
As he entertained, as all must, a high veneration for the genius of 
Shakspeare, it is surprising that he did not give an edition of that 
wonderful bard's works, rather than those of Ben Jonson ; but Jon- 
son was a scholar, and Gifford was strongly prejudiced in his favour 
on that account. How well he has executed his task as editor of 
Jonson's Works need not be told. Yet of late years he assured. 
me that he had a great desire of publishing a new edition of Shak- 
speare, for which he said there was full room, after all the labour 
and research of the various commentators. But he said that his 
advanced time of life and ill health forbade the hope that he should 
ever be able to accomplish his purpose. 

Giflford was a kind master, and of a forgiving nature. He had 
settled a pension on his housekeeper of a guinea a week for her life, 
in confidence of her fidelity ; but he found that, during a long illness 
which disabled him from all attention to domestic concerns, instead 
of paying his tradesmen, &c. for which he had furnished her with the 
means, she had devoted the money to her own use, had run him ia 
debt to the amount of about 500/., and had besides exhausted his 
wine cellar, which had been amply stored. Notwithstanding her 
gross ingratitude and delinquency, he merely dismissed her. 

The ability with which GifFord conducted " The Quarterly Re- 
view" need not be mentioned, as he rendered it the best work of 
that nature in Europe, and it still maintains its pre-eminence by the 
reputation which he conferred on it, and by the abilities of those 
who have succeeded him in the management. His health evidently 
declined in his latter years, insomuch that though be always admitted 
me to see him, and has often written to me, requesting I would call, 
he was unable to speak more than a few words, desiring that I would 
talk, and not expect him to answer. In about half an hour after I 
bad been with him, he would generally request that I would go and 
take tea below, where there were books to amuse me, and then 
would send down a note to me sometimes, to mention any thing that 
had occurred to him after I left him. 

I have a great many of his letters, which are marked with such 
kindness and friendship that I am rather surprised I had no memo- 
rial in his will, as it is said he left property to the amount of about 
27,000Z. But he disposed of it in a manner honourable to his char- 
acter ; for, after a few legacies, he left the bulk of it to the son of his 
€ariy protector, who had rescued him from hopeless indigence and 



442 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

obscurity, fostered his talents, provided for his education, and ena- 
bled hiin to make a distinguished figure in the literary world. 

GifFord had been severe upon the late Mr. Kemble's " foggy 
throat," in his poem of " The Baviad." I introduced Mr. Kemble 
to him ; and soon after in a new edition of that poem he effaced the 
passage. Mr. Kemble gave him the free use of his dramatic library, 
while he was preparing his edition of " Ben Jonson ;" and GifFord 
was profuse in his acknowledgments of Kemble's kindness, and in 
respect for his talents. 

Though GifFord had several appointments under government, and,- 
doubtless, a settlement had been made on him by the late Lord Gros- 
venor, for being tutor of his son the present earl, yet it is difficult to 
account for his having left so much property, as for some years his 
infirmities obliged him to keep a carriage. No doubt he was a 
severe economist, and very temperate in his habits. 

During my long connexion with him, I only dined with him once 
at his own house, with his friend the late Mr. Porden the architect, 
a man of great literary as well as professional talents, and who had 
been the intimate friend of Mason the poet. Mr. Porden declared 
to me his full conviction, that Mason was the author of the cele- 
brated " Heroic Epistle to Sir William Chambers," a work of great 
poetical merit and humour, but so different from the usual style of 
Mason as to render it difficult to conceive that it was the progeny of 
the same mind. Mr. Porden's youngest daughter, a lady of high 
poetical genius and knowledge, was married to Captain Franklin, 
the celebrated navigator, who lost in her death an amiable, intel- 
ligent, and accomplished companion. I now take leave of my old 
friend William GifFord. 



CHAPTER LXIV. 

Doctor Bennet. With this gentleman, who was Bishop of 
Cloyne, 1 had the pleasure of being a little acquainted. He was 
esteemed a good scholar, and was certainly an amiable and un- 
affected ecclesiastic. 1 asked him if there existed any traditional 
account of his great predecessor, Bishop Berkeley. He assured me, 
that soon after taking possession of his diocess, he had made the 
same inquiry, but all he could learn was, that Dr. Berkeley had left 
a high reputation for mildness and piety, and that in his clothing, and 
all other domestic articles, he used nothing but the produce of the 
neighbourhood in which he resided. Doctor Bennet told me, also, 
that he was at Cambridge University at the same time with Gray, 
and that as far as he knew that great poet, he was by no means the 
affected and fastidious character v/hich he has been represented. 



DR. BENNET— GEORGE COLMAN THE YOUNGER. 443 

He said, Gray was a reserved man, and not likely to encourage 
any light and frivolous conversation, and therefore that the character 
imputed to him was probably the result of vexation in those who had 
not been suffered to intrude upon his studious seclusion. As Doc- 
tor Bennet was an observing and discerning man, I have no hesita- 
tion in relying upon his character of the poet. 

I may here relate a circumstance which the late Mr. Penneck as- 
sured me was a fact. Two gentlemen, strangers to each other, were 
passengers by themselves in the Windsor stage. One of them was 
the friend of Mr. Penneck. As they were passing Kensington 
church, the latter broke forth into an eulogium on "Gray's Elegy," 
declaring he never passed a churchyard without being affected by a 
sort of poetical enthusiasm ; and he then recited several of the stan- 
zas, and renewed the subject as every churchyard appeared in view. 
He afterward, addressing himself to his fellow-traveller, remarked 
how extraordinary it was that a poet who could write with such fer- 
vid genius and manly vigour, should be a delicate, timid, effeminate 
character, indeed, "A puny insect shivering at a breeze." Soon 
after the conversation became general, and the other gentleman, who 
had been silently attentive, gave his opinions on such topics as arose, 
and displayed so much taste, judgment, and learning, as surprised and 
delighted the other. They both left the coach at Eton, and Mr. Pen- 
neck's friend was all anxiety to know who was the accomplished 
character with whom he had parted. Meeting a friend, he was ex- 
pressing his admiration, and just then the other gentleman appeared 
in view, and he was told that it was Gray the poet. He was then all 
confusion at the character which he had given of the bard to himself. 

George Colman the younger. It is no slight gratification to me 
that I am able to number this gentleman among my living friends. I 
have had the pleasure of an uninterrupted intercourse with him for 
upwards of thirty years. I hardly think that I should show an excess 
of partiality if I were to consider him as one of the very first dramatic 
writers of modern times, nor would it appear to me to be rash were I 
to rank him even with my old friend Sheridan. The characters 
which the latter has introduced are, in a great degree, traditional ; 
some of them may be found in Ben Jonson, in Beaumont and 
Fletcher, in Wycherley, Congreve, and Vanbrugh ; but the characters 
which the junior Colman has represented are drawn from real life^ 
and diversified with great fertility and admirable humour. His ?' Heir 
at Law," " Poor Gentleman," and "John Bull" are excellent come- 
dies. The characters are various, well contrasted, and uniformly 
discriminated and supported. His " Battle of Hexham,"* and his 

* The " Battle of Hexham" reminds me of a jeu-d''esprit of my friend Colman» 
that well merits a place in his lively " Random Records." Our late friend Dr. 
Moseley, who succeeded Dr. Monsey as physician of Chelsea Hospital, was making 
some comments on the play which the author did not approve, and therefore wittily 
interrupted him in the following manner : " Recollect, doctor, that this is ' The Bat- 
tle of Hexham,' not a bottle of Huxham." 



444 nEcoKDs of my life. 

" Surrender of Calais," are written in the style and spirit of our an- 
cient dramatic writers, whose works contain a sterling weight of 
matter of much higher value than what is fashioned for the present 
day. " The Mountaineers," besides an interesting fable, has a 
variety of characters, and abounds with passages of great poetical 
energy : and the same may be said of " The Iron Chest," founded 
on the interesting and impressive novel of my old friend Godwin. 

Here I cannot but pause with regret that the unfavourable recep- 
tion of this play, on its first representation, should have separated two 
friends, the author and the late Mr. Kemble, from each other, and 
induce the former to write his hostile preface. I was present at the 
first representation of this play, and really think that Kemble exerted 
himself to the utmost of his power to support it. The fact is, that 
Kemble was ill at the time, yet that very circumstance gave an in- 
creased interest to the character, for Sir Edward is supposed to be 
sunk into sickness and wasting in languor, and happily suited with the 
dejection and alarm in which the hero of the piece is supposed to be 
involved. 

Not knowing that Kemble was really indisposed, I attributed his 
acting to his perfect conception of the nature and situation of the 
character, and thought his support of it was throughout admirable, 
and that I had never seen him to more advantage. The play, at first, 
was certainly too long, and Dodd, though an excellent actor, had too 
long a part, and rendered it tedious by what my old friend, the late 
Lc^rd Guildford, would style his twaddling manner. But the author 
revised, corrected, and improved his piece, which has now a right io 
be stationary with the English stage, and affords good scope for thea- 
trical plventurers. Happily the two friends were again reconciled. 
Kemble made allowance for i\\& genus irritabile vatum, and the author 
properly withdrew and suppressed his vindictive philippic. 

I need not mention the humorous poems, farces, &c. &c. which 
my friend Colman has written, nor his diverting "Random Records," 
as they must be in the hands of all persons who pretend to taste ; 
but shall conclude with a whimsical compliment that he paid to me 
in one of his letters, which is now before me. 

IMPROMPTU. 

Nine Tailors (as the proverb goes) 

Make but one man, — though many clothes ; 

But thou art not, we know, like those, 

My Taylor 1 

No — thou canst make, on Candour's plan, 
Two of thyself — (how few that can !) 
The critic and the gentleman, 

My Taylor ! 

Thomas Harris, Esq. This gentleman, who was long the chief 
proprietor of Covent Garden theatre, I became acquainted with so 



THOMAS HARRIS, ESQ. 445 

long ago as on the first representation of the opera of" The Duenna.'* 
Vie met at the house of Joshua Mayor, Esq., member for Abingdon, 
at Millbank. Mrs. Mayor was a very accomplished woman, and had 
the character of a great wit. She was the daughter of Mr. Dicken- 
son, one of the most emiiient brewers of his time. She was under- 
stood to be the granddaughter of the famous Mr. Bond Hopkins, 
immortalized by Pope. It is said that she brought to Mr. Mayor a 
fortune of about fifty thousand pounds ; but as they were a fashion- 
able pair, and lived in a fashionable style, they were much lower in 
their condition towards the decline of life. Mr. Mayor died first, and 
Mrs. Mayor retired into the country with a remnant of her fortune. 
But she was a woman of excellent understanding, and bore the re- 
verse of her fortune with cheerful resignation. Their house at Mill- 
bank Avas the resort of wits^ barristers, and politicians, as well as of 
musicians, and indeed of all who could impart fashion and gayety to 
the mansion. 

The well known Mr. George Rose, the friend of Mr. Pitt, was a 
frequent visiter ; and i have met there Mr. Brummel, private secre- 
tary to Lord North, when prime minister, and father of the Mr. 
Brummel, who has risen into the fantastic distinction of being styled 
*' Emperor of the Beaux." As Mrs. Mayor had a high intellectual 
character, I may indulge myself in the insertion of a few lines in return 
for some complimentary trifle which I had addressed to her. 

Bard, of all other bards excelling. 

Who so well hast sung of me, 
Bard, in Hatton Garden dwelling. 

Thus I send my thanks to thee. 
Long thj talents I have known. 

Witty, generous, and free ; 
But thy judgment ne'er was shown, 

Till thou sang'st in praise of me. 

Mr. Potter, a Welsh judge, and Mr. John Churchill, brother of 
the poet, I have also met at Mr, Mayor's. The latter's powers in 
conversation were congenial with those of his brother in poetry. I 
bave met him also at the table of Mr. Harris, and always found him 
the life of the company. Mr. Harris seemed to be the chief and 
favourite visiter of the house, and his acute and sound understanding 
and general knowledge rendered him a desirable companion. His 
views were at once comprehensive and minute, and the same power- 
ful talents which quaUfied him to govern the complicated concerns 
of a theatre royal so well, would have fitted him for an elevated 
situation in the political world. No man was better able to judge 
of the merits of a dramatic composition, or to comply with the public 
taste in all its variations. 

In consequence of the services which 1 had been able to render 
bira, I was favoured with his confidence and friendship. He pnce 
ofiTered me the privilege of writing admissions to his theatre, which I 
fefused, because I knew that, by accepting it, I should expose him 



446 RECORDS OP MY LITE. 

to the ill will of others. His ill health obliged him to retire front 
the conduct of the theatre during his latter years, and, living in the 
country, I had no opportunity of seeing him long before his death. 
I shall therefore conclude with an extract from one of his letters, as 
it shows the benevolence of his disposition towards the veteran Dibdin,^ 
and will serve as a memorial of our friendship. 

"My good Friend, 
" I wish with all my heart I could possibly do what you request for 
my old friend Dibdin — but it is utterly impracticable. Will a per- 
mission for his sending in tickets to the amount of fifty pounds, on 
Monday, the 12th instant, be of service to him 1 I mean they should 
"be free of all charge or expense whatever. If yes — pray tell Bran- 
don to get them printed for him, specifying the number in pit, box, or 
gallery. I am sorry that I can do no more for the assistance of a poor 
fellow who in former times has often assisted me. Thanks for your 
excellent prologue — but the trifle you solicit is much too confined 
for your services — you, who are as constantly ready at your post for 
our service, as if you had no concerns whatever of your own. 
" Ever cordially and faithfully yours, 

«T. Harris* 

<« Bellmonte, July 4th, 1813." 



CHAPTER LXV. 

Joseph Planta, Esq. If moral principles and the force of good 
example may be considered as intellectual wealth, I had an oppor- 
tunity of deriving such mental affluence by my intercourse with this 
gentleman ; for though I had no domestic intimacy with him, I have 
had the pleasure of meeting him in company with the late Rev. Mr. 
Harpur, Mr. Maty, and Mr. Penneck, officers of the British museum^ 
at the time when Mr. Planta was under-librarian of that national 
institution, and afterward principal on the death of Dr. Morton. 

I became acquainted with Mr. Planta about the year 1787. I had 
been previously acquainted with the three other gentlemen ; and Mr. 
Maty, conceiving that I had rendered him some literary service, though 
of a very trifling kind, brought me an elegant snuff-box from Paris, 
which I treasure as a relic of old friendship. 

I have already had occasion to mention Mr. Harpur in the course 
of these pages ; and all I shall say of him at present is, that he was 
one of the best-bred men I ever knew, with all the decorum, but 
without any of the formality, usually attributed to the priesthood. 

There was another officer of the museum about that time, a Dr. 
Grey, who was very fond of music, and had a musical daughter. H& 



JOSEPH PLAWTA, ESQ. 447 

was rather morose in his temper, and formed a perfect contrast to 
the easy and affable manners of Mr. Planta. All of these gentlemen 
are dead, but I have not forgotten the pleasure which I enjoyed in 
their company. 

Mr, Planta was a native of Switzerland, and though he was an 
Englishman in loyal feeling, yet he did not forget his own country, 
but gratified his patriotic spirit by writing a history of it, which 
appears to be elegant and impartial. He was also the author of 
" An Essay on the Runic or Scandinavian Language," and published 
a catalogue of the manuscripts in the Cottonian library. His last 
work, I believe, was "A short History of the Restoration of the 
Helvetic Republic,"— a proof that though he had long been a denizen 
of Great Britain, a strong sense of his natale solum still dwelt upon 
his heart, while every one of his numerous friends would have been 
proud to call him their countryman. 

Mr. Planta was a fellow of the Royal Society, had the honour of 
conducting the foreign correspondence of that noble institution, and 
was afterward appointed its secretary. I was once in hopes that I 
should be able to join the amicable circle at the British museum, as 
a vacancy occurred among its officers, and 1 was favoured with a 
letter of recommendation from the Dake of Marlborough to Dr. 
Moore, then Archbishop of Canterbury. The archbishop favoured 
me with an interview, treated me with great courtesy, and asked me • 
why I wished to bury my youth in that comparative seclusion. I 
told his lordship that quiet, study, and independence would be the 
chief enjoyment of my life, and that I should be perfectly contented 
with the situation which 1 solicited. The archbishop then asked me 
if I was sufficiently acquainted with natural history, as that was an 
essential requisite for the office. On my answering in the negative, 
he told me that the place was not a gift for him to bestow, but a 
duty for him to discharge, and then courteously put an end to the 
interview. 

The museum having lost by death so many of its former officers,, 
and in later years the Rev. Thomas Maurice and Archdeacon Nares, 
both men of learning and literary powers, I seldom had an opportu- 
nity of seeing Mr. Planta, except accidently in the street. Fully 
aware of his parental affection, i always made my first inquiry after 
his son ; his countenance then invariably lightened, and his eyes 
glistened with pleasure, and hence I could not but infer that so 
affectionate a father was rewarded by a son likely to fulfil all his- 
paternal wishes. 

I was very many years ago acquainted with the Rev. Henry 
Stephens, who was married to a sister of Mr. Planta, and was. 
promised an introduction to her, understanding that she was a very 
accomplished lady, but I lost sight of Mr. Stephens, and never en- 
joyed that pleasure. 

Nothing can be recorded of Mr. Planta but what would be highly 
honourable to his memory, but there is one circumstance I musti 

U3 



448 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

mention from respect to his character and to gratify myself. When 
Alexander, Emperor of Russia, visited the British museum during 
his short stay in this countr}^, he was accompanied through the 
rooms by Mr. Planta. The emperor observed that the museum in 
Paris contained a much superior and more valuable collection. Mr. 
planta modestly answered the emperor in the folloxving words : 
" Your majesty should consider that we have nothing here but what 
has been honestly bought and paid for," — an answer respectful, 
spirited, and just, and which shows how much he felt for the honour 
of his adopted country. This answer may well be classed with that 
of Prior the poet, who, when viev/ing the pictures at Versailles, where 
the victories of the French monarch are painted by Le Brun, and 
being asked by a French courtier whether the King of England's 
palace had such decorations, immediately answered : " The monu- 
ments of my master's actions are to be seen everywhere but in his 
own house :" — an answer loyal and witty, but inferior to that of 
Mr. Planta in point of moral dignity. Mr. Planta died in December, 
1S27. 

Sir Thomas Lawrence. It is impossible for me to omit noticing 
this great artist, whom 1 had known for nearly forty years, whom, 
with all the world, I admired for his professional excellence, and 
whom I sincerely valued as a friend. I knew his' father, a very 
respectable and amiable old gentleman, and his two brothers. One 
was a clergyman, with whom I was but little acquainted ; with the 
other 1 was intimate many years. He had tried his fortune on the 
stage, but not rising into eminence, he entered into the army, and 
was respected as an officer and esteemed for his private worth. 
They have both been dead many years. 

Sir Thomas Lawrence, as long as I can remember him, was 
admired for the suavity of his manners, as well as for the precocity 
of his genius. It cannot be said that he advanced in both, for his 
improvement in his profession was rapid, but the suavity of his 
manners became systematic, and setded into refined and habitual 
courtesy. I have been assured by a friend who knew what he said 
to be founded in truth, that when Sir Thomas Lawrence was em- 
ployed in Vienna by order of his late majesty, his manners were so 
polished and refined, supported also as they were by his general 
knowledge, taste, and professional genius, that he was admitted into 
the highest circles at the imperial court, from which all lower grades 
of nobility were excluded. 

Lawrence was a firm friend, and his qualities were well calculated 
to excite friendship. He lived in the utmost intimacy with the late 
Mr. George Dance, the architect ; the late Mr. John Kemble, the 
greatest ornament of the stage in his time, except Mrs, Siddons ; 
with the late Mr. Farrington, the admired landscape painter ; and 
with Messrs. Srairke, senior and junior ; all of whom were aljle to 
appreciate his merits, and the last two are living witnesses of his 
worth, and sincerely reverence his memory. I have had the pleasure 



SIR THOMAS LAWRENCE. 449 

of meeting all of them at his table, which was characterized by ele- 
gance and hospitality. He has often paid me the compliment of 
desiring me to look at his productions, and to give my opinion of 
their merits or defects ; and I have sometimes been, by his encourage- 
ment, imboldened to offer an objection, which he always received 
with a kind toleration. 

It would be presumption in me to express ray admiration of his 
genius, as it is so well known and acknowledged by the world at 
large ; and, perhaps, that world has never witnessed a nobler mani- 
festation of graphic excellence, the product of an individual, than 
that fine collection of his works which has been exhibited since his 
death at the British gallery in Pali Mall. As he occasionally con- 
descended to ask my opinion of his works, I often solicited his judg- 
ment on my humble verses, and can truly say that I always profited 
by his critical taste and acumen. 

Hearing of his lamented death, I went on the Sunday following 
the day when that melancholy event took place, and was permitted 
to take the last view of my departed friend ; and I regret to say, he 
was altered so much that it would have been impossible for me to 
have known him if I had seen his remains in any other house. I 
shall now conclude this humble tribute to his mensory with a copy of 
his answer to a letter which I sent to him some time ago, including 
a poem, if I dare call it so, which I wrote on seeing his portrait of 
a lady. 

"to john taylor, esq. 
"My dear Sir, 
" Many thanks to you (and they ought to have been returned 
sooner) for your friendly note and flattering tribute to my fair sub- 
ject and her painter. Her name was 'Thayer' when I painted the 
picture, and is now ' Madame Thiebault.' I think the verses are 
of your very best, and particularly the last stanza, and the last two 
lines, but I would cut out the third stanza, because it suggests a 
doubt adverse to the fidelity of the artist and the beauty of the subject. 
Let me but have your youth at your age, and I shall be additionally 
grateful to Providence for its bounties to me. 

"Believe me ever, my dear sir, 

" Your very faithful servant, 

"Thomas Lawrence. 

" Russell Square, Wednesday." 

The world at large needs no proof of the genius of Sir^ Thomas 
Lawrence, or the extraordinary excellence of his productions, and 
ought also to know that the generosity of his disposition corresponded 
with his great professional excellence. 

When I was advised by jny friends, in consequence of the sudden 
loss of the property which I had been a great part of my life acquiring, 
to pubhsh my poems by subscription, I wrote to Sir Thomas Law- 



450 Records of my life. 

rence, requesting he would honour my list of subscribers with his 
name, but, as money was a great disorganizer of friendship, desiring 
that none might pass between us, but that if he would favour me with 
a print from his portrait of our mutual friend Mr. Kemble, I should 
esteem that a more valuable subscription. The following is a copy 
of his answer : 

" TO JOHN TAYLOR, ESQ. 

"My DEAR Sir, 

"I should be sorry if on this occasion 'money did not pass between 
us.' You shall pardon me therefore for disobeying that part of your 
wish, though I shall gladly request your acceptance of the print you 
mention the moment I can recover a good impression. I beg the 
favour of you to send me two copies of your work, my ready sub- 
scription to which I am sure I requested might be inserted at Mr. 
Murray's when the publication v/as first proposed. 

"Believe me to remain, with constant esteem and respect, my dear 
sir, your very faithful servant, 

"Thomas Lawrence. 

"Russell Square, April 10th, 1827. " 

It is proper here to mention, that the foregoing letter contained a 
draft on Coutts's banking-house for ten guineas, as his subscription, 
which was the more gratifying, as it contradicted the report that he 
was embarrassed in his circumstances, owing to his liberal ex- 
penditure on the works of great masters. 



CHAPTER LXVI. 

Mr. James Hook. This gentleman was long in high reputation 
for his musical powers ; he was the organist to Vauxhall Gardens 
for nearly half a century, and his practice as a teacher of music was 
extensive. His compositions are innumerable ; his songs are marked 
by science and simplicity, antl occasionally by humour, particularly 
those which he composed for Vauxhall Gardens. 

Mr. Hook was a very skilful performer on the organ and piano- 
forte, and an able teacher in singing; many distinguished vocal 
performers were indebted to him for those instructions which raised 
them to eminence. He was a very sensible and intelligent man, 
particularly fond of punning, and remarkably fertile in that species 
of amusement; he was cheerful and good-humoured. 

Mrs. Hook, his first wife, possessed very respectable talents as an 
artist, particularly in miniature painting, many proofs of which I 
have seen, and which, in my opinion, displayed great skill and taste. 



MR; JAMES HOOK. 451 

She had also literary talents, and wrote two or three dramatic pieces, 
which were well received by the public, and to which her husband's 
music was adapted ; she wrote the words of several of his songs. I 
Jiave enjoyed many pleasant hours at their hospitable board. 

Mrs. Hook died some years before her husband, to the regret of 
numerous friends, and a considerble time elapsed before Mr. Hook 
married again. He resided at Calais for some years before he died, 
and I am among many friends who hold his memory in respect. I 
knew him during the childhood of his two sons, James and Theo- 
dore, both of whom displayed extraordinary abilities at a very early 
age. Their parents, of course, were proud of such promising off- 
spring, and gave them every advantage of education to bring forth 
their talents. 

James, the eldest, was placed very early in life at Westminster 
school, where he soon distinguished himself by his classical attain- 
ments and literary powers. I remember that, while he was at 
Westminster school, he paid me the comphment of submitting to my 
judgment a mock-heroic poem of his own writing, which appeared 
to me at the time to be a work of humour as well as of poetical 
spirit. He also at a very early period displayed considerable skill 
and taste as an artist. I have seen a sketch-book, containing some 
■vivid portraits of many distinguished characters of the time. This 
book was, I believe, in the hands of his late majesty, by whom Mr. 
James Hook was much patronized when Prince of Wales, and since 
his elevation to the throne. Soon after he wrote an opera, entitled 
^' Jack of Newbury," to which his father contributed the music, and 
which was successfully represented at Drury-lane theatre. 

During the period of the French Revolution, and while its detest- 
able principles were vehemently advocated in this country, he wrote 
a series of letters, that were inserted In " The Sun" evening paper, 
of which I was then a proprietor. They were characterized by 
sound learning, cogent argument, literary force, and fervid loyalty. 
As several demagogues, and some opposition newspapers, mentioned 
•with high praise the liberties enjoyed by our ancestors, he published 
a series of political papers, under the title of " Good Old Times," in 
which he demonstrated the superior condition of the people of the 
present age, and with keen research and historical accuracy, as well 
as with powerful reasoning, illustrated the tyranny which the people 
suffered at the very periods that were held forth as proofs of popular 
freedom by the revolutionary writers and champions of anarchy. 

These papers were also taken into " The Sun" newspaper, as they 
successively appeared, and were afterward collected into a volume 
of historical truth, sound reasoning, and political sagacity. After his 
admission into the church, Mr. James Hook successively enjoyed 
several valuable preferments, and finally became Dean of Worces- 
ter, with a probable prospect of attaining a mitre. His powers were 
various, and he inherited the musical taste of his father. He mar- 
Tied a daughter of Sir "Walter Farquhar, by whom he had a family ; 



45^ RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

and died a short time ago, when he might be said not to have passed 
the prime of life. 

Theodore, his younger brother by several years, also distinguished 
his talents at Westminster school, and those talents expanded with his 
progress im life. He is the auther of several dramatic pieces, which 
have been represented with great success. I never heard that he was 
trained for any profession, but by the connexions which his abilities 
enabled him to acquire, he obtained a lucrative appointment at the 
Isle of France. Placing too much coiifidence in a deputy, who 
abused his trust, be was involved in great pecuniary difficulties on 
account of the demands of government. As, however, he was the 
victim of treachery, he experienced the lenity of government, for 
which it is understood that he made an ample return, in being the 
chief writer in a weekly paper, published on Sundays, which sud- 
denly arose into great popularity by its wit, humour, spirit, and loyalty. 

Mr. Theodore Hook is eminent for his colloquial powers, which 
render him an acceptable and a courted guest in some of the 
higher circles of the metropolis. I might perhaps say more of this 
gentleman, if my opinion of his merits, as he is alive, were not hkely 
to be ascribed to partiality and the natural impulse of old friendship 
with his family. 

As a proof of the favour in which the late Dean of Worcester was 
held by his present majesty, he ^received a Ivaluable] snuff-box from 
the royal hand, enriched by a beautiful portrait, in enamel, of Col- 
bert, the celebrated French minister of a former age. 

W. T. Fitzgerald, Esq. This gentleman, with whom I had the 
pleasure of being acquainted many years, was a member of a club 
entitled " Keep the Line," the import of which was to maintain due 
decorum and respect in societ5^ Never was there a stronger oppo- 
sition than the implied precept in the designation of the club, and the 
liberties which the members took with each other in the way of rail- 
lery ; though, as all passed with good-humour and conviviality, no 
offence was ever taken during the time I was a member ; but as the 
meetings were held on Sundays, for the accommodation of Mr. 
Lewis, Mr. Holman, and other theatrical gentlemen, and cards were 
introduced, the club gradually declined, and I sent in my resignation,, 
retaining, however, a sincere friendship with its members in general. 
The club soon after broke up. 

At this club I first became acquainted with Mr. Fitzgerald, and 
our intercourse ripened into a sincere and warm fiiendship, which 
only terminated with his lamented death. 

Mr. Fitzgerald was related to the family of the Duke of Leinster. 
He was nephew to the Mr. Martin who wounded Wilkes in a duel,, 
and was aftervvard the hero of one of Churchill's poems, entitled 
" The Duellist," not without danger to the poet, for Mr. Martin was 
a very determined character, and as likely to call out Churchill as 
Wilkes. 

Soon after I became acquainted with Mr. Fitzgerald he intro- 
duced me to his family, consisting of his sister and the two Misses 



W. T. FITZGERALD REV. DAVID WILLIAMS. 453 

Martin, his cousins. It was understood that there was a good income 
among them, which they formed into a common stock, and lived 
together, by which means they were able to keep a good house in 
Upper Seymour-street, and to receive their friends with liberal 
hospitality. 

As Mr. Fitzgerald was a great lover of the drama, he had fre- 
quently dramatic scenes represented at his house in the evening to 
parties of his friends, some of whom used to take part in the scenic 
amusements. The late Lady De Crespigny used to attend these 
parties, and assist in the representations. I remember to have been 
present when they represented a scene in " The Fair Penitent," in 
which Mr. Fitzgerald supported the part of Horatio, and Lady De 
Crespigny that of Calista. There was a sententious dignity in Fitz- 
gerald's Horatio ; and the lady gave great effect to her part, particu- 
larly where Calista snatches her letter from Horatio, and destroys 
" the wicked lying evidence of shame." 

Another of these amateur performers was my friend William Bos- 
cawen, Esq., a poet and a scholar, and whose translation of Horace 
is justly admired for correctness and spirit. He presented the work 
to me, and when I expressed my regret that he had given " The 
Art of Poetry" in verses of eight syllables, he agreed with me that it 
ought to have been translated in the heroic measure ; and the last 
time I saw him, which was accidentally in the Strand, he told me 
that he had made a great progress in a new translation of that poem, 
in ten syllable verse, as more suited to a didactic subject. He 
looked, however, so ill, that I could not help foreboding in my mind 
that he would not live to finish his version. It happened to be the 
day on which the directors and subscribers to " The Literary Fund" 
held their anniversary dinner ; and when I met him, he was so zeal- 
ous in the cause of that noble institution, that I am sure severe illness 
only would have kept him from the celebration. His amiable lady 
was also one of the voluntary actresses at Mr. Fitzgerald's, and sup- 
ported pathetic characters with great feeling and delicacy. 

Mr. Fitzgerald, besides his patrimonial inheritance, had a retired 
pension as one of the officers of the victualling office. Before he left 
the office he was the next claimant, by seniority, to the head of the 
department in which he was engaged ; but he waived his right in 
favour of an inferior, upon a promise of a hundred a-year. The 
other succeeded ; but, proving a defaulter to a large amount, he ab- 
sconded to America, and was followed by officers sent by our gov- 
ernment, and frightened into restitution, though, if he had firmly held 
his ill-attained property, it is said that he would have been supported 
by the American laws. 

Having mentioned that admirable institution, " The Literary Fund," 
it is proper that I should speak of its founder, the Rev. David Wil- 
liams. I was well acquainted with him before that institution was 
established. He was a learned man, and a powerful writer. His 
first public appearance in London was as a preacher, at an obscure 
chapel in SoUo, where he brought forward a new form of prayer, 

0.3 



454 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

and advanced doctrines different froiPx those of the orthodox church, 
but did not become popular, chiefly, perhaps, because he did not imi- 
tate the zeal and enthusiasm of the Whitefields and the Wesleys. 
He therefore relinquished that pursuit, and devoted himself to lit- 
erature. 

He had early in life written a work entitled " The Philosopher," in 
which there appeared to be shrewd and profound reasoning. He en- 
gaged in a translation of the works of Voltaire, and on the appearance 
of the French Revolution, became partial to its principles. Soon after 
the commencement of that disturbance in the civilized world, he pub- 
lished a work entitled " Lessons to a Young Prince ;" but immediately 
after it appeared the infamous Thomas Paine came forth with his 
more daring " Rights of Man," and the " Lessons" had comparatively 
few pupils. 

One of his early publications was a " Letter to David Garrick," in 
which he treated the British Roscius with great severity. His hostil- 
ity was imputed to two causes ; one the rejection by the manager of a 
dramatic piece on a Welsh subject, and the other his friendship for 
Mossop the actor, whom he accused Garrick of having excluded from 
his stage from motives of jealousy, because his own powers had 
declined, and he had then " a lacklustre eye." This pamphlet had a 
great sale, but was condemned for its illiberal spleen. 

It is probable that from his connexion with the booksellers, he pub- 
lished many works during his latter years, but, as I was not in the 
habit of visiting him, I had no opportunity of knowing what they were. 
As it is not known that he had suffered the severe vicissitudes of a lit- 
erary life himself, he is the more entitled to the praise of benevolence 
for having been the founder of" The Literary Fund," which may be 
considered as one of the most meritorious institutions in this country, 
and in all Europe. 

The delicacy, as well as humanity, with which it is conducted, not 
only in affording relief to the unfortunate votaries of the muses, but in 
sparing their feelings by the laudable caution with which pecuniary 
assistance is administered, is above all praise. Nor is this delicate 
reserve the only merit of the directors ; for they do not wait for ap- 
plications, but endeavour to discover the victims of misfortune, and 
wherever they find suitable objects, promptly tender a liberal aid. 
The followers of literature and the friends of genius must therefore 
hold in lasting veneration the name of David Williams. 

He was a tall, stout, healthy man during the time that I knew him ; 
but I understand that within the last two years of his life he was so 
much reduced by sickness as to be wholly unable to leave his home, and 
disposed to admit only the visits of his most intimate friends. He was 
talkative in company, but if opposed in argument, there was a kind of 
negligent indifference, and assumed superiority in his manner, as if he 
thought his opponent's objections not entitled to serious confutation. 
Judging from what he said to me when I last met him, he seemed to 
have become a latitudinarian in religious matters ; for observing him 
in a very light gray coat, I could not help expressing my surprise. 



MR. BOSCAWEN. 455 

" Why," said he, " I wore the garb of hypocrisy so long that I was 
ashamed of it, and have now cast it aside." He was, however, a 
warm and steady friend, and indefatigable in the cause of humanity. 

Mr. Fitzgerald was a strenuous and persevering supporter of " The 
Literary Fund," to which he annually contributed a laudatory ode, to 
the number of eighteen, which he recited himself on the anniversary 
celebrations as long as his health would permit, and the vigorous ani- 
mation of his manner gave powerful support to the poetical energy 
of his several compositions. 

Mr. Fitzgerald fell under the sportive lash of the authors of " The 
Rejected Addresses," chiefly on account of the fervid loyalty which 
marked his poetry in general ; but that poetry is really characterized 
by so much strength, correctness, and feeling, that it will stand its 
ground ; and I am persuaded that if my ingenious and liberal-minded 
friends, the authors of those sportive effusions, had known him, the 
manly character and honourable spirit of Mr. Fitzgerald would have 
exempted him from their humorous hostility. As to the other critical 
assailants of Mr. Fitzgerald, except Lord Byron, they are unworthy 
of notice. 

Before I take leave of Mr. Fitzgerald, I will return to Mr. Bos- 
cawen. He was the nephew of Admiral Boscawen, one of our former 
naval heroes ; but though the glorious victory of the Nile seems to 
lessen the triumph of all preceding naval achievements, Mr. Bos- 
cawen came forward with an ode in honour of Nelson, expressive of 
enthusiastic admiration. Mr. Boscawen published a volume of " Ori- 
ginal Poems," highly creditable to his genius and taste. He also pub= 
lished a separate poem entitled " The Progress of Satire," occasioned 
by a passage which alluded to him in " The Pursuits of Literature." 
It is somewhat curious that the author of this popular poem has never 
been discovered. 

For my part, I consider " The Pursuits of Literature" as one of the 
very best of modern poems. It is founded upon the true principles of 
poetry, politics, and morals, though the late commentator Steevens in- 
vidiously said, that " the lines were only pegs to hang the notes upon." 
To prove the folly of the observation, a small edition of the poem was 
published without notes, and was powerfully impressive. What mod- 
ern poet has produced a passage equal to that of " The Bard," in 
" The Pursuits of Literature ?" 

Mr. Mathias presented to me his tract on the subject of the " Row- 
ley Poems," and his arguments on the question of their authenticity 
appear to me to be decisive. Mr. Mathias is admitted to be a pro- 
found scholar, and I have been assured that he writes the Italian lan- 
guage with as much precision and taste as if he were a native of that 
part of Italy where it is spoken with the greatest purity and elegance. 
He has long resided at Naples, but wherever he resides he must be 
considered as the perfect gentleman. 

Mr. Fitzgerald was for many years upon the most intimate footing 
with the late amiable Lord Dudley and Ward, a nobleman of the good 
old school. He was distinguished for the benevolence of his disposi- 



456 RECORDS OF MY LIFE. 

tion and the urbanity of his manners. His political principles being 
congenial with those of Mr. Fitzgerald, the noble lord was highly 
gratified with that gentleman's poetical recitations. His lordship, I 
understand, died intestate, from a conviction that his hereditary suc- 
cessor would dispose of his property according to the parental inten- 
tions; but the present Lord Dudley has probably exceeded those 
intentions. 

Mr. Fitzgerald had long been afflicted with an asthma, and latterly 
with a dropsy, which finally destroyed his constitution. He has left an 
affectionate widow and six children to lament the loss of a kind hus- 
band and father, a loyal subject, a polished gentleman, and an excel- 
lent member of society. 



CHAPTER LXVH. 

John Crowder, Esq. This gentleman, who conducted himself so 
well during his mayoralty, 1 had the pleasure of knowing many years, 
and have passed many pleasant hours at his hospitable mansion, near 
the three-mile stone on the Hammersmith road. He ffiequently in- 
vited his friends to his plenteous and elegant table. His guests were 
chiefly literary characters, or friends connected with literature. I 
have met there the late Sir Nathaniel Conant, formerly a bookseller ; 
the Baldwins, eminent booksellers and printers ; Mr. Alexander Chal- 
mers ; Mr. George Nicol, and his son Mr. William Nicol. Good- 
humour and festivity was " the order of the day." 

Mr. Crowder was a printer, and a proprietor of " The Public 
Ledger," a daily paper, that under his conduct faithfully adhered to 
its orif^inal motto, viz. " Open to all parties, but influenced by none." 
He was a firm friend to the British constitution, equally free from all 
servile devotion to the ministry, and adverse to all the violence of 
party. He was also, I believe, connected with a paper manufactory ; 
and possessed, by all accounts, property amply sufficient to justify his 
liberal hospitality. 

In the earlier part of his life, he was attached to the stage, and was 
occasionally an amateur actor of such merit as might have tempted him 
to adopt the theatrical profession if he had not had better prospects. 
Dr. Stratford, a clergyman, had written a tragedy entitled " Lord Rus- 
sell," and I was present at the performance of this tragedy in Drury-lane 
theatre by amateur actors, and Mr. Crowder was one of them. Mr. 
Lawrence, the father of the late Sir Thomas Lawrence, was another. 
A son of Dr. Lucas, a celebrated Irish patriot and writer, was also a 
supporter of this piece for the benefit of the author ; and all I remem- 
ber is, that there was something so grotesque and ludicrous in the per- 
formance of Mr. Lucas, that it was in the daily papers the subject of 
ridicule for many days after. 



DR. WM. THOMPSON — WM. PEARGE, ESQ. 45T 

I do not recollect that any former lord-mayor, within my time, so 
rapidly passed through the several offices of sheriff, alderman, and 
chief magistrate of the city, as Mr. Crowder, — a proof of the excel- 
lence of his character, and the general estimation in which it was 
held. 

I had not seen him since he invited me to his sheriff's dinner till I 
lately met him at my old and worthy friend's. Sir William Beechey^ 
with whom I was sitting in his painting-room ; Mr. Crowder, then 
lord-mayor, when he entered the room and saw me, seemed to 
recollect old times, and gave a start of theatrical surprise, and before 
we parted, he invited Sir William, myself, and my sou to one of his 
private dinners at the Mansion-house. Illness prevented my attend- 
ing the first invitation, but we soon received another, which my son 
and I accepted ; but then, unfortunately, his illness prevented his pre- 
siding at the table, and that illness, to the regret of his numerous 
friends, has since terminated in his death. 

It is some consolation to those friends, that Sir William Beechey 
has painted a fine portrait of him in his civic robes, and as it will 
doubtless come into the hands of the engraver, they will all have an 
opportunity of obtaining a faithful and spirited likeness of an esti- 
mable man and an able and upright magistrate. 

Dr. William Thompson. This gentleman was a native of Scot- 
land, and a very learned man ; he is mentioned by my friend Mr. 
Moore, in his Life of Sheridan. He was very inteUigent, but very 
absent ; I was intimate with him for nearly thirty years. He was 
the particular friend of Gilbert Stewart, the Scotch Historian, with 
whom also I had the pleasure of being acquainted. 

I met Dr. Thompson one day in Soho ; and as he was communi- 
cative and instructive, I always listened to him with pleasure. He 
began to speak on the politics of the day and of the universal dissi- 
pation of the age, concluding every remark, " But, sir, it all arises 
from the progress of manners." The discourse lasted so long, that 
I had no time to spare, therefore taking advantage of a momentary 
pause, I asked him how Mrs. Thompson (his first wife) was. " Oh, 
sir !" said he, " I am one of the most unfortunate men in the world j 
she died last night, and I am now going to the undertaker to arrange 
her funeral." Having a great respect for the doctor, I could not 
avoid feeling some satisfaction, that his political dissertation on the 
progress of manners had for some time released him from the pres- 
sure of conjugal anxiety. 

' W1LLIA.M Pearce, Esq. It is with pleasure that I can include this 
gentleman among my living friends, as well as my old ones. He 
long held a responsible situation at the Admiralty, and has for some 
years retired to the enjoyment of ease, literature, and domestic hap- 
piness. He married the sister of my old friend Sir Henry Bate 
Dudley. 

Mr. Pearce is well known in the dramatic world. His farces were 
always successful, particularly his "Hartford Bridge," which was 



458 REConns or my life. 

skilfully adapted to the talents of the respective performers, and was 
so attractive at the time when it first appeared, that it well might be 
revived and ranked among the stock pieces. Mr. Pearce's first pro- 
duction was a poetical description of the reigning beauties of the 
time. The characters were nicely discriminated, and the praise was 
appropriate without flattery. This work was called " The Bevy of 
Beauties," and was so much admired that it procured for the author 
the title of " Bevy Pearce." Many of those beauties have doubtless 
obeyed the summons of " the fell sergeant Death ;" but the work 
should be revived, that as Vandyke has bequeathed to us the 
" Beauties of the reign of Charles the Second," by his admirable 
pencil, those of the reign of George the Third may be transmitted to 
posterity by the poetical delineations of my friend Pearce. 

Mr. Pearce has written many popular songs, which have been~ 
adapted to music by his excellent friend Shield, a man whom all who 
knew him admired and loved. I will mention one of these popular 
songs, because, though written by Mr. Pearce, and the music by - 
Shield, it has been erroneously attributed to the elder Dibdin, with 
whose lyric compositions it indeed may well be compared. This 
song was styled " Tom Moody." 

"You all knew Tom Moody, the whipper-in, well." "'' » 

This song is properly assigned to Mr. Pearce, in Daniel's valuable 
edition of " British Sports," and in other publications, so that there 
can be no excuse for depriving the author and the composer of their 
due praise. 

Doctor Hill, chiefly distinguished by his " Swedish knighthood," 
ivhich he translated into English, and generally styled Sir John Hill, 
was well acquainted with my father, but I never saw him, though I 
was very desirous of being introduced to him, as his works had 
highly gratified me in early hfe. He was a man of very extraordi- 
nary powers, and might have risen into the most respectable estima- 
tion if he had not been the victim of vanity and malevolence. Though 
a very timid man, and disposed to submit to the grossest personal 
violence, and even chastisement, nothing could subdue the heroic 
intrepidity of his pen. His history is so well known, that it would 
be absurd to detail it in this place. 

He was severely handled by Churchill, but his indiscriminate cen- 
sure of others justly exposed him to assaults. He attacked Christo- 
pher Smart, the poet, who was provoked to write a mock heroic 
poem on him, entitled " The Hilliad," to which Mr. Arthur Murphy 
assured me that he wrote the copious notes annexed. Smart styled 
Hill in this poem. 

The insolvent tenant of encumhcr'd space. 

Smart only published one book of this poem, and promised another, 
but his mind became disordered, which rendered him incapable. 



DOCTOR HILL. 459 

It is a singular circumstance, that though so pusillanimous in his 
own temper, Hill has drawn a portrait of such firm, temperate, and 
determined courage in his novel, called " The Adventures of Mr. 
Lovell," as it might be conceived hardly possible to enter into the 
mind of so opposite a character. He quarrelled with Woodward, 
the actor, and wrote severely against him. Woodward was pro- 
voked to reply in a pamplilet, in which there was a passage to 
the following effect, as well as I remember. " I once," says Wood- 
ward., " saw you play Lothario at May Fair, when Dagger Marr 
(a poor actor) was Altamont, and the audience heartily concurred 
with you, when you dying said, 'Oh! Altamont, thy genius is the 
stronger.' " 

The late Mr. Jerningham told me that Hill appeared to him to be 
a good Latin and Greek scholar, but that he was totally unacquainted 
with the modern languages of Europe ; yet he invited all the corps 
diplomatique to dine with him at Bayswater, and requested Mr. 
Jerningham to be of the party, that he might be instrumental in 
promoting some intercourse between the host and his guests, which 
without such aid must have been very limited. 

One time, when King George the Third was at the theatre, and 
an incidental compliment was paid from the stage on his majesty's 
patronage of literature. Sir John Hill, who was in a neighbouring box, 
arose in a manner that attracted the attention of the audience, 
and made a formal bow to his majesty, merely to render himself 
conspicuous. 

Dennis M'Kerchier, Esq., an Irish gentleman of fortune, who hved 
with Lady Vane, was said to have written her memoirs, as they ap- 
pear in " Peregrine Pickle ;" and Dr. Hill was employed by Lord 
Vane to write the history of " Lady Frail," to counteract the im- 
pression on the public. The infidelity of the lady had induced 
M'Kerchier to separate from her. When he was near death, she 
anxiously desired to see him, but he would not suffer her to approach. 
Mr. M'Kerchier is introduced in " Peregrine Pickle" as the gentle- 
man who so generously protected the young man in the famous 
Anglesey cause, who was so cruelly persecuted by Lord Valentia, 
his uncle. This story is the foundation of Mr. Godwin's last romance, 
entitled " Cloudesley." 

Dr. Hill, in his novel of Mr, Lovell, according to report, in- 
tended to draw his own character as the hero of the piece, and 
he there mentions an amour that Lovell had with the famous Mrs. 
WoffiHgton. 

Mrs. Woffington was so regardless of her reputation that little 
respect is due to her memory ; but it is impossible to excuse the 
vain relation of Dr. Hill, even admitting that it was well founded. 

Dr. Hill possessed poetical talents that might have raised him into 
notice. There are some specimens in the novel alluded to, but I 
subjoin the following stanzas, which are little known, and still less to 
have been written by him. 



JtECOSDS OF MT LIFE. 

ANACREONTIC. 

Bid me, when forty winters more 

Have furrow'd deep my pallid brow ; 
When from my head, a scanty store. 

Lankly the wither'd tresses flow ; 
When the warm tide that, bold and strong. 

Now routs impetuous on and free, 
Languid and slow, scarce steals along. 

Then bid me court sobriety. 

Nature, v/ho form'd the varied scene 

Of storm and calm, of frost and fire, 
Unerring guide, could only mean 

That Age should reason, Youth desire ; 
Shall then that rebel Man presume. 

Inverting Nature's laws, to seize 
The dues of Age in Youth's high bloom, 

And join impossibilities? 

Let mc waste the frolic May 

In wanton joy and wild excess, 
In revel, sport, and laughter gay, 

In mirth and rosy cheerfulness. 
Woman, the soul of all delights. 

And wine, the spur of love, be there, 
All charms me that to joy incites. 

And every she that's kind is fair. 

There is a redundance of imagery in the first part of the last 
stanza, but the whole is spirited and pointed. 

The doctor was a pitiable victim to the gout. Having once met 
my friend Penneck, who was hobbling under the same disorder, the 
doctor said, " Try the tincture of Barduna, it is a certain cure." A 
fortnight after, coming in his carriage to the British museum, and 
hardly able to get out of it, being so severely attacked by the gout. 
and meeting Mr. Penneck at the same place, the latter, with sarcastic 
gravity, said, " Doctor, let me recommend the tincture of Barduna 
to you as a sure specific." 

It is impossible to reflect on the character of Sir John Hill, to 
whom nature had been so bountiful, without feeling regret that his 
talents, attainments, enterprising spirit, and indefatigable industry 
should have been nullified by his envy, vanity, and morbid thirst for 
fame, or rather for notoriety. Properly directed, his literary powers 
and his fertility might have raised him to one of the highest ranks of 
literary eminence. But as it was, he rendered himself 

A fix'd figure 



For the hand of scorn to point her slow and moving finger at. 

I once met his widow at the house of Mr. Pope, the actor, in Half- 
moon-street, and Dr. Wolcot was of the party, to whom she was for- 
mally introduced as to Peter Pindar. She seemed to be an intelli- 
gent and lady-like character. She paid Dr. Wolcot many com- 
phments on his works, and recited many passages from them. The 



DOCTOR HILL. 461 

doctor, who was fond of praise, seemed to be highly gratified with 
her commendation, and amply returned her courteous attention. 
The doctor and I went away together, and as we walked, I asked 
him how he liked Lady Hill. He said she was a very agreeable, 
elegant, and intelligent woman. I then asked him if he knew who 
she was. He said, " I suppose the widow of some Irish lord." " No," 
said I, " she is the widow of that celebrated physician, Sir John Hill." 
^' What ! of that old quack — have I been praising her? D — n me, I 
will go back and spit at her." This menace he uttered in a mo- 
mentary anger ; for soon after, reflecting on her praises of his works, 
he returned to his first feelings, and added, " But she is, hovt^ever, really 
a very agreeable woman." Such was the impression of Dr. Hill's 
memory on a man who otherwise would have honoured his talents 
and admired his productions. 

I shall now conclude these " Rambling Recollections" with simply 
observing, that if they shall amuse the reader as much as they hav© 
done the writer, he w^ill be abundantly satisfied for the labour which 
it has cost him to put them together. 



THB END. 



0.9; 



i 





•^^0^ 









^0 "^^ * rVn 


















^^.^ ^^.^ .^.-.^ ^^^^-^ %.^' ^^^I'. v.^ 








:aq^ 



?5°^ 




^^-^^^ 















Deacidified using the Bookkeeper proce 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 




"^^^^ o^-^fK"" ^ <^ *k\% PreservationTechnologie 



v-^^ 







A ^ ^ Treatment Date: May 2009 



4- ^ 



A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATI 

111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 16066 



0' 











■0.* *<» 

\^ ,. -^ "°'"' ^f 



^^-;^ 



0" 





°^o U ^^ *f 















% 




i ftp ^P^ -,j 



DOBBS BROS. 

tIBBABY BINDING 







